


All Your Lies

by Speary



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1940s, Alternate Universe - 1950s, Angst and Feels, Art By Impalaartsociopath, Berlin - Freeform, Canon-Typical Violence, Community: deancasbigbang, DCBB, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge 2016, Destiel - Freeform, Dmitri Krushnic - Freeform, England - Freeform, F/M, M/M, New York, Spy Castiel, Spy Dean, Two period typical slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-09-02 04:37:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 102,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8651425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Speary/pseuds/Speary
Summary: When Sam is captured in East Berlin, in the summer of 1953, there is some fear that he’ll be lost to them forever. However, Agent Dean Winchester catches a lucky break. His agency has captured a KGB agent. They’ve negotiated prisoner exchanges before, but only after they had extracted what secrets they could. And Dean has enviable skills when it comes to interrogations. His prisoner, Dmitri Krushnic, though, seems to know too much, and he also seems to be somehow familiar. The more time he spends with the prisoner, the more questions he has, about the past, about what he lost in the war, and about the truth that he wasn’t ready to see.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I owe a great deal of thanks to everyone that cheered me on during the writing of this fic. It began as a single chapter that I shared with my Agincourt DM friends. They liked it, and now it's just over 100k. Thanks BookClub. I also owe a massive thank you to the DCBB Crying DM. You all are so wonderful. Thank you for keeping me from crying over this thing.
> 
> Thank you so much to [Alison](http://partyof3blog.tumblr.com/) who beta'd the piece so thoroughly. I had so many anachronistic bits in this since it was originally going to be set in the 1960s. Thank you also to [Dani](http://warkitt3nz.tumblr.com/) for giving it a second look and kind words.
> 
> Lastly, thank you to [impalartsociopath](http://impalartsociopath.tumblr.com/) who claimed my story and gave it such beautiful pieces. You are a truly talented artist. I absolutely LOVE all of the pieces that you made. You can see all the art at once over here: https://goo.gl/72NJCl  
> \---  
> Background: The story itself is set in an alternative universe that begins in WWII on the island of Iwo Jima. Cas in this story is usually referred to by the name Dmitri Krushnic. He is a Russian spy sent to fight as an American in order to determine whether or not Stalin should fight with the Allied forces. This is how he meets Dean. I was inspired by a presentation that I attended where a veteran shared with us his story of survival on the island of Iwo Jima, the landscape, and the caves.
> 
> As the story progresses it becomes a 1950s spy story set primarily in New York, Berlin, and England (briefly). I had the luxury of visiting the Spy Museum in DC this past summer where I got to see what sorts of items were utilized during the various eras. It is where I learned about microdots (small pieces of paper that contained microscopically small writings or information that were glued into larger items in order to pass them off undetected). I take some liberties with the places that I describe. The train station in Berlin may have had some flooded tunnels under it, but I can't prove it. The descriptions of the ship the SS United States were fairly accurate and came from historical photographs that I dug up from a number of different websites. The Night Ferry received limited descriptions, but it was a lovely way for one to travel from England to France. The area that Dean lives in in New York is entirely fictional (or if it existed, I didn't research it).
> 
> The agency Dean works with is also fictional, and I feel like that gives me a few liberties when it comes to what the US gov't can do and such. Hopefully you don't mind just going with this. Lastly, I used Crowley's other name, MacLeod. Figured you all would notice, but just had to be clear that it is him.

 

 

From a distance it was picture postcard perfect. There was the lush green foliage juxtaposed with the bright crisp blue sky. There were puffy white clouds to make you think that this was a place of peace and dreams. And if you managed to stop up your ears, you could almost believe it. The sound of artillery fire though, would not allow one to imagine for long. In the night, sometimes, there was quiet, but it too kept one from peaceful dreams of what could be. For even in the silence, one could still hear the rat-a-tat-tat of guns echoing in the island night.

It was a volcano. All of the islands on their path were. They would be moving in on the second wave. He was ready, had been since he first laid eyes on the place. They had their packs loaded down with supplies. Dean had his pack ready. He’d carry his gun, his knife, his K-rations. The pack was heavy. It was somewhere near 30-40 pounds. He’d carried more, but he had concerns. He saw the first wave make its way ashore. The land on this island was different, and would be brutal even without the extra weight.

He stared out at the gentle sway of the branches on the trees near the shore. He tuned out the sound of artillery fire. He let his mind drift into a different place, a different time, not this post-apocalyptic wasteland. He imagined home. He didn’t often do this. Some memories were too painful to live in. Some days he’d let himself forget that there was home and a life with mundane responsibilities. Some days he’d even let himself forget Sammy, his sandy mop of hair, too long for his father’s liking. His last image of him was at the breakfast table eating a short stack of pancakes that Dean had made, just like mom had before.

Mary Winchester, their mom, was a memory that he did not dwell upon. She had died and Dean had been left to fill not only her role in Sammy’s childhood, but also the role of father too. John didn’t know how to mourn, how to lose what was precious, without it destroying him. So he shut down. He lived minimally and drank extraordinarily. If it weren’t for his job with the State Department, John Winchester’s family would have starved. As it was, he was able to drag himself there day after day, leaving his kids to fend for themselves while he got a paycheck.

Dean picked up the slack at home, and never blamed John for stealing away a shot at anything resembling a happy childhood. At least he managed to shelter Sam from the bulk of the troubles. When the time came to fall into the war, Sam was still too young to join him, but old enough to deal with a father like John Winchester. Dean let his mind focus again on the present. He could fight this battle and come home to a little brother that will not have been damaged by the blood and carnage of the battlefield. For that he was grateful.

 

Tomorrow they would hit the shore. Tomorrow they would make their way to the mountain, to their enemies that had been hunkering down in miles of tunnels throughout the mountain. They’d been told that this place was a strategic stronghold, a place that they needed for all the future attacks that were planned. Dean couldn’t see it, but he’d fight the good fight as if it were true just the same.

* * *

 

“Cas Novak.” He spoke with a slight twang as he introduced himself to a young soldier situated near his bunk. Thankfully, the guy just shook his hand and laid back, closing his eyes against further conversation. This suited him just fine. He hadn’t been angling for a conversation with the new guy anyway. Introductions just seemed to be the thing one did.

He was a man of few words, and that seemed to suit the others just fine. There was enough bravado in this group without his contribution. He was not one of them. He was just here to see things, hear things, and report back. He had to fight though, because to not, would be to die. Stalin had decided that they wouldn’t enter the war until Germany had surrendered. It was a rather strategic move. All the while he was telling Japan, _don’t worry, we won’t concern ourselves with you._ It was actually incredibly strategic.

That was how he had ended up here, adopting his middle name, well a variation of it at least, as if it was his first name. The last name was something else entirely, something stolen from a man that he met prior to enlisting. He had an identity already, one that would suffice, but he didn’t feel much connection to the name. So when he met Jimmy Novak, a man that bore at least in his opinion, a slight resemblance, he took his last name.

He altered his paperwork, and smiled down at his handiwork as he passed it off to the enlistment officer. He covered his Russian accent with a well-practiced mid-western twang, and no one seemed to be the wiser. His subterfuge a success, it had been a solid year of effort on his part, getting to this point. Here he was though, standing shoulder to shoulder with a bunch of American Marines ready to race headlong into battle. This was a fool’s mission. He could see the carnage and death that would greet them even as the battle plans were explained to them. He’d fight though. It was what he did.

He’d also heard enough to report on once he was able. He’d seen the drive and determination of the Americans. He’d been impressed. Back home they were laughed at, scoffed at a bit, for their ways. Begrudgingly, he’d come to view them with some admiration.

The night came, and the continuing barrage of weapons punched away at what could have been a peaceful evening. They’d only given 13 hours of fire to the island, not enough to do much. When the barrage ceased, he’d be out there with the rest, fighting and doing his best to live. He’d seen worse plans before, but not by much. This seemed like a mission doomed to failure. He readied his pack and wondered if somehow his family would learn of his fate if things did not work out. He was not Cas Novak there. He was not Cas Novak anywhere but here, yet most days it felt like that was who he really was deep down, just a mid-western guy, alone in the world, trying to live past another sunrise.

* * *

 

The first wave moved across the land by slow degrees. Dean had watched them. They were mere dots of flesh moving and falling and dying. The losses that day were great. Dean could see already that the packs would be a problem. He opened his and began reevaluating what he’d carry. Fewer guns, more ammo, fewer K-rations, fewer communications items. Some in his group were issued flame throwers. He envied them at first. It seemed like a fun weapon to wield. He reevaluated his feelings though when Patrick let him lift his weapon. It was heavy. There was a tank that would be worn on his back containing fuel. Dean imagined all the ways that could go south as he set the weapon back down.

He was ready as they were called forth. The brisk sea air snapped him awake as he looked out to the treeline. His pack was on; his weapon was ready; the noise of battle filled the world with horror. The land was still vibrant and green in patches, juxtaposed against the blue sky. It wouldn’t stay that way once the flames licked away the color. They rushed as much as they could across the too-exposed shore to the trees. The snap of gunfire filled the air. He ran and the others ran too. Soon the land beneath their feet became the sharp, loose volcanic rocks. They could hardly move along with any speed as the rocks tumbled and slid away with each surge forward. They also weighed too much to make fast progress. Just getting their own bodies twenty feet from where they began would have been tough enough, but they were each carrying something like forty pounds of gear too.

Dean felt the dire situation grow worse as he surged forward a bare few inches. He considered crawling. He threw himself on his stomach, and pulled himself along. Others did the same. The man at his side took a bullet. Dean paused in his movements and stared into the eyes that stared back at him past blood-splashed lashes, mouth agape in a silent scream.

Dean kept crawling toward the trees on the left, the miniscule cover that he’d need to return fire. Twenty yards. Fifteen yards. Ten yards. Five yards. A bullet nicked his pack. He crawled faster and settled in behind the tree. He looked for the enemy. He saw a distant flash of light reflected off of a scope, a sniper, maybe. He got ready. He aimed his rifle. He shot toward the reflected light. It disappeared. He was not a man of faith, but he let out a silent prayer of thanks to whatever guided that bullet to its target.

* * *

 

He thought of himself as Cas Novak even though he knew this was not who he was. He talked to himself as he crawled through the rough terrain of volcanic rock. He headed deep into the trees. He shielded himself behind the body of one of his fellow soldiers. The man had died quickly at least. The body shook with the impact of two more bullets. He waited a few beats and then crawled onward. Others were trying to walk upright through the loose rocks and they were having trouble staying that way.

The noise above his head and all around him was raw and terror filled. There were shouted commands, and the agony of death as hundreds in his vicinity breathed their last breaths. He ignored the orders, as they were coming from anyone that felt the need to issue them in the moment. He moved with purpose. He had studied the maps of the area. He knew where to go to be of the most use. He also knew where he could go if he wanted to live. They’d die if they stayed at the base of the mountain. They were sitting ducks. The loose rocks made progress too difficult, and the enemy was safely tucked into the mountain, shielded from any major gunfire. They’d had plenty of time to settle into the spaces that they had occupied. The Allies had a distinct disadvantage.

He crawled for what felt like miles, but it was likely just twenty yards or so. He moved along behind a stand of trees. The bullets that whizzed by took off chunks of wood just over his head. Some had followed him, despite orders being called out to the contrary. Carver got up alongside him and said, “Where we heading?”

“The western end of the mountain. That stand of trees.” He pointed quickly.

“Sounds good, Novak. I’m following.” Carver moved along in his wake. Parks and Smith flanked him on the other side. He didn’t know why these men had taken to him. They were always around, always underfoot. It was as though they saw something of a leader in him despite his lack of a title. They moved by slow degrees. The farther they got the less gunfire seemed to be directed at them.

They’d make it to the area soon enough. They’d attack the low tunnels first. It would be an undertaking. He thought that they might be able to collapse them. The tunnels were made from the lava that had flowed freely before. They were long and smooth, a perfect cover for anyone that wanted to be able to rain down terror on those below. The enemy was smart. They'd had nearly a year to get the tunnels ready, to really dig in. Heavy losses would be sustained by the Allies. They should have bombarded the mountain for more than thirteen hours. “We’ll strike the low tunnels at night.”

Carver smiled and said, “Right boss.” They waited for night to fall, the war noise echoing out around them.

* * *

 

They fought for ten days before it all went fully to Hell. The bodies were everywhere. Dean found a soldier slumped over on his stomach on the jagged lava rocks, his face pressed to the side. His eyes were open, and his mouth was closed, like he had forgotten to scream in the last moments of life that he had left. Dean had reached out and pressed the eyelids closed, _pointless._ The soldier was young, looked like he might be Sam’s age. Dean was grateful again that Sam was not here, couldn’t be here.

They cleared a cave. One of the guys had tossed a grenade into it, and that did some damage. They were being guided now through the tasks that they had already committed to carrying out before. A new commanding officer had joined them when several others had died. Dean did what he was told. There was some comfort in just following orders without having to give them. He shot, lobbed grenades, and hiked out into the open just as he was told. And he lived.

They came to a second group that had been on shore longer. Dean didn’t look at them, didn’t care to learn faces or names. Most of them would be dead by sunrise anyway. Instead he waited for orders. Eventually, he was pulled aside for his mission. “Winchester.” Dean focused on the voice, some hastily promoted leader that he would obey. “They want us to get a guy in there. They think it’s clear, but we can’t be sure. If it’s clear, we think we can use it to navigate to the other tunnels. We think they’re all connected, see?”

“And you want me to run on up there and check it out?” Dean rolled up an eyebrow slowly clearly questioning the thinking behind this mission that he’d accept. He never shied away from a suicide mission before, so why start now?

“Gonna send two of you up there. Set off the flare if it’s clear, and we’ll get more up there. We’ll cover you as you hit the opening between here and there.” He pointed at the spot that was completely exposed between the scant treeline and the tunnel’s opening. The loose lava rock in that space seemed like it would pose many problems. He estimated that it would take him, at a minimum, fifteen minutes to get to the next bit of cover. It was truly a suicide mission.

“Okay.” Dean hastily scrawled a note to Sam and his father and folded it up, tucking it into the outer pocket of his pack. He considered leaving it behind, but it wouldn’t matter enough. He put on his helmet and readied his weapon. He waited for his signal to go and then went. He didn’t even look at the guy that was flanking him.

They both moved with purpose and stealth. At least the command had gone out that they’d begin their ascent at nightfall. Dean listened to the silence that was punctuated by the breathing of his partner and the crunching noises of their boots sinking a little into the first stretch of rock. They could not be quieter; the land wouldn’t allow for it. So they moved forward with as much speed as they could. The distant pop of gunfire echoed through the dark. They were not hit.

They were halfway to the opening when another pop, and another punctuated the air around them. The bullets ricocheted off the rocks near them. Dean heard the men at the base of the mountain shouting and returning fire. The shouting seemed to be a means of providing distraction. It seemed to be working. They got to the base of the tunnel and another bullet glanced off the mouth of it. Dean fell to his stomach and dragged himself through the opening. The other guy was right at his side.

By some miracle, the tunnel was empty. The guy next to him was breathing in great gulping lungfuls of air while he lay on his stomach just inside the entrance. “Hey buddy, ya got the flare?” Dean asked.

The guy barely moved, but he reached back to the pack on his back and yanked out a flare for Dean. “Here.” He didn’t look at Dean, just waved it back to him. His voice had a country twang to it. Dean took the flare and lit it, waving it just outside the tunnel. Then it happened. Somehow, someone blew up the side of the mountain just above the spot at which Dean was standing. He could feel the rocks and debris falling down all around him. The cuts and bruises on his face would be plenty. That would hardly matter though if he couldn’t get out from under the rubble that was now covering most of his body.

* * *

 

Ten days in and now he was being sent on a suicide mission with some greenhorn he’d never met. He barely looked at him. He silently accepted the task despite the feeling that it was foolish. He’d survive it, maybe. _He’d survived worse,_ he thought, then retracted. _Nope, this is the worst._

He lightened his load, leaving behind extra ammo and the heavier ration cans he’d acquired, just keeping some K-rations, some ammo, his rifle, and a knife. The commander handed him a flare to add to his load, and another one for good measure. He patted down the pouch at the front and felt the Zippo lighter’s shape beneath his fingers, barely an extra ounce of weight for the trek.

Night fell on them, a deep dark that was cut by the flash of distant explosions and patches of land that were perpetually burning. There was no down time in battle. Something was always being destroyed, consumed. It was quieter here though, save only for the low murmured voices of the other soldiers. There was a melancholy air, as if they all knew that this was a mission that would be futile. Check the tunnel. If unsuccessful, hope for a swift death. He felt the resignation hang heavy over him.

The one that would accompany him, Winchester, was ready, having written something that he slid into his pouch, likely a goodbye letter to family or a girl back home. He was good looking. Short cropped sandy hair and piercing green eyes. He barely looked at him, but he looked enough to see that much. He didn’t need distraction, so he looked at the land in front of him. It was all shadows now. And in the middle of their path was so much loose rock, that they’d likely be calling that space their grave.

They were given the word and the long trek began. It would be the second longest walk of his life.

* * *

 

He couldn’t see. Dean felt the pain everywhere on his body. His legs were pinned under something and all was darkness. He tried to move. He tried to get his hand to his face. There were rocks pressed on him. He could feel something sticky and wet near his eyes, _blood._ He opened his mouth to call out and had to close it immediately as dirt and debris fell into it. He spit into the space above him. That did not work out well. He could breath at least. It was dusty breaths of air though that filled his lungs.

He decided to take another chance. He opened his mouth and yelled, “Hey!” He didn’t speak again for a moment. He listened and heard a quiet shuffling sound that seemed to be coming from far away. “Hey!” he shouted again. He felt the rocks that seemed to surround him shifting. He felt the fear stir in his stomach as bits and pieces of dirt rained down on him a little more. “Hey, careful. It’s coming down on my face.”

“I’m digging you out.” The voice that came to him was muffled as if it was coming to him from a great distance. “Shit.”

“What’s happening.” Dean felt the stab of the curse run through him. “Talk to me man.”

“The rocks are not exactly going to be easily moved. I’m worried about moving them and having it crush you.”

“Well, I ain’t going anywhere. Take your time.” Dean laughed a little, but it hurt and turned into a cough that caused more rocks to fall onto him.

“Stay still. You don’t need to talk right now.” Dean could hear more shuffling sounds. He waited, and time seemed to drag on for an eternity. His vision did not adjust. An hour had passed, maybe two. He focused on the small sounds of effort coming to him past the rocks.

“Are you getting close?” He finally asked when he thought it might be safe enough.

“Maybe. You sound close.” The voice did sound close to Dean. He thought that maybe he was just a few feet away.

“I should talk a little, so you know where I am.”

“I know where you are.”

“Yeah, but if I talk you’ll know when you’re getting close.”

“I already know how close I am.” The voice was low and matter of fact in its delivery.

“Fine, whatever man. I’ll just go back to the silence then.” Dean wondered if they had any way of getting light once he got free of the collapse. He needed to clean the blood from his eyes so he could see again. He felt trapped more so by the blindness than by the rocks. His heart was pounding out a steady rhythm. He wouldn’t call it panic, not exactly, but he was certainly worried. The shuffling was getting closer.

“You’re afraid.” The statement was also delivered like the statements before, quietly and, Dean thought, pompously.

“Whatever.”

“That’s why you wanted to talk. I’m sorry. I did not understand before.”

Dean waited, not wanting to acknowledge any fear on his part. Instead he said, “What’s your name?”

“Cas Novak.”

“How’d we get so unlucky, Cas?”

A slight laugh from the other side, and more rocks shifted near Dean’s arm. “I’ve always been lucky.”

“Guess this is where you pay for all that good fortune before.” Dean laughed, but kept it light. He didn’t want to shake any other rocks free.

“I don’t know about that. I’m alive. You’re alive. Seems we both did alright for being on a suicide mission. I’m thinking we just hole up here for a few weeks and let the battle move on without us.” Cas laughed again.

“We’ll run out of K-rations.”

“True, but we could last a little while at least.” Then Dean felt a hand grasp his shoulder. “There you are.”

“Shit, warn a guy will you.” Dean was smiling though.

“Sorry.” The guy had an accent. Dean noted it and decided he’d ask where he was from when they weren’t so occupied. “I’m thinking I might just pull you out now quickly and forcefully.”

“Uh, that sounds risky and like maybe I might die in the process.”

“Well, best get your affairs in order. Got any messages for the one’s you’re gonna leave behind?”

“You are really bad at this whole putting people at ease bit.” Dean felt Cas’ hand grip him tighter, then another hand was invading his space and grabbing his other shoulder. Rocks were falling. Cas was pulling. In a bare few seconds, the hole that Dean had been occupying collapsed, and Dean lay in a heap of limbs sprawled out in Cas’ lap. They didn’t move for a long time.

Dean listened to the sound of his breathing heavy and loud mixing with Cas’. “You okay?” Cas asked.

“Yeah, I think so,” Dean replied.

Cas took his hand and said, “Wiggle your fingers.” It was oddly intimate, and the hand was warm. Dean turned his thoughts to the words and wiggled his fingers. “Good. Now the other hand.” Cas set down Dean’s one hand and took the other. Dean wiggled the fingers. “Nothing broken maybe.” Cas shifted and gently set Dean down. They were in complete darkness. Dean felt Cas move toward his feet. His shoe was removed. Warm hands were pressed to his foot. “Toes.” Dean wiggled them. Cas did the same with the other foot. “Good.”

“So, I’ll live?”

“You’ll live.” Cas came back up to Dean’s face, at least that’s what it sounded like. A hand bumped up against his arm and slid slowly up to his face.

“I believe that my face is a bit cut up. There’s blood. I can taste it.” The hand inspected him gently and with purpose.

“You seem to have sustained some cuts around your forehead and near your eyes. You feel swollen. Wait here a moment.”

“Wasn’t planning on going anywhere.” Dean laughed.

He heard a quiet noise, and then he placed the sound as a lighter being flicked. “Oh,” then quieter, “oh.”

“What?” Dean still couldn’t see anything and wondered why Cas had given up with the lighter. A gentle hand was on him. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Can you see me?”

“No, Cas. It’s pitch black in here.” Dean huffed out in frustration, then he felt the warmth near his face and realized that Cas was holding a lighter somewhere near him.  “Oh shit.”

“It’ll heal. The swelling is just quite bad. I’d have been surprised if you would have been able to see after that.” Dean could feel the hand on his head smoothing back his hair, gentle fingers trailing back over his scalp.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For getting me out.”

“Of course.” He let out a sigh and added, “Rest now. You’ll need your strength for when we have to dig our way out.”

* * *

 

Two days in the dark and one starts losing track of time. Dean was in no condition to dig so they stayed there, mostly still in the dark. “What’re you doing?” Dean asked.

“Moving rocks at random,” he answered.

He flicked his lighter near Dean and looked down at his face to check the swelling. “How’s it look?”

“You’re a mess, Winchester,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Call me Dean.”

“Fine. You’re a mess, Dean.” They laughed, and he put away the lighter. He was growing accustomed to the dark.

“How long have we been in here?”

“Fifty-six hours.” He moved more rocks from what was the former opening.

“Wonder if they’ll try to dig us out.” Dean wondered a lot of things. He was not a quiet man.

“Hmm, they likely think we’re dead. It is a fair assumption.” He moved more rocks, not worrying over any further collapse.

“I can help.” Dean started to move and made a low painful sound when he did.

“Stop. You need to heal.” He moved to Dean and settled a hand on him, pushing him back to the spot he had been in.

“I’m fine enough to help. Let me help.” But Dean couldn’t move. He was held firmly in place.

“No.”

“Fine. It’ll just take longer and we’ll starve.”

“We won’t starve. I believe that the collapse is covering approximately ten feet of space, maybe less. I can dig us out of that in a few days without your help.”

As if he needed the mountain to back him up, the world around them shook as something massive hit the hill on the outside. The dust and a few rocks rained down on them. “We might not have a few days.”

He grunted out his response and continued digging.

* * *

 

The nights, he assumed it was night; everything was night, they were the coldest. They did not have bedding in their packs. They had each opted to lighten their loads. Dean’s teeth were chattering audibly in the dark. He didn’t know where Cas was. There was no sound beyond his own audible suffering. It had been five days or as Cas put it, “One hundred thirteen hours since the collapse.” They ate one ration pack per day to conserve their resources.

Dean heard movement in the tunnel. “Cas,” he said with a shake in his voice.

“You sound miserable.” The sound of his voice was a comfort. He was near Dean now.

“Freezing,” he offered up as an explanation. He felt Cas at his back, curled into him. He was warm, comparatively.

“Cas?”

“Don’t talk about it. Just sleep.” So Dean did as he was told. He was a good soldier after all.

* * *

 

“I thought you said it’d be just a few days.” Dean’s voice was crackling, so he rummaged around in a pack for some water to give to him.

His hand slipped under Dean’s head, and Dean startled a little. He lifted the canteen to Dean’s lips and said, “I fear that more rocks have fallen over the entrance since the first collapse. It is likely that the mountain is being heavily bombarded, despite our presence in it.” He took away the water and recapped it. He flicked the lighter and held it over Dean’s face. “Can you see anything yet?”

“No,” Dean replied with frustration.

“I’m going to move you closer to the collapse. You can help with the rock removal now.”

“Not afraid that I’m too delicate for the job?” He sounded irritated.

“That was never the concern. You’ll need your strength to fight. We won’t get a clean shot out of here. It’ll be just as dangerous as it was before.”

“Have you looked at the back end of the tunnel?”

“Nothing there. It gets very narrow. You wouldn’t fit through it.”

“But you would?”

“Maybe. I don’t know if it gets smaller though. It’s not worth the risk.”

“Okay.” Then Dean became still and silent. “Cas.” It was nearly a question.

“Yeah.”

“You aren’t just saying that right?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, it’s actually too narrow right? You’re not just saying that because you don’t want to leave me behind?”

He thought about his answer. He thought about the passage out. He needed to live. He had a greater mission. He could fit out the passage. He was certain that it lead to other places that could lead to escape. It wouldn’t be a clear shot though, and he’d be lucky if he could get through without running into a single enemy. He certainly couldn’t do it with Dean. He said, “I do not believe that it is a safe route. It is quite narrow. I find it troubling.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t like tight spaces.” He lied. He was comfortable in most situations. He had to be. They trained for that. He had passed all of the tests back in Moscow.

“Oh.” Dean’s voice was low. “This must be a picnic then.”

“It’s not so bad. I’m not alone and there is room around me.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes more. They could not tell if it was day or night without Cas checking his watch. Dean broke the silence to ask about the time. “How long has it been?” He did this often.

“It’s been two hundred hours.” His voice sounded like gravel.

“Two hundred? Not two hundred eight hours and fifty-three minutes?” Dean was mocking him.

“Sorry,” his voice sounded harsher. “It’s been two hundred hours and ten minutes. I believed you found my exact answers tedious.”

“I didn’t. I found them funny.” Dean paused. “Drink some water.”

“Huh?”

“How long’s it been since you drank water? You sound bad.”

He thought about it a moment and said, “Just a day.”

“That’s too long. Drink.” Dean’s voice sounded forceful.

“We don’t have much left.”

“I just drank, so now you drink.”

He thought about it some more. He could pretend. Dean wouldn’t know. “Okay.”

“Bring me the canteen,” Dean commanded.

“Why?”

“Because.” Dean was moving, but he couldn’t see him. He flicked the Zippo. Dean was sitting against the far wall of the tunnel.

He located the canteen and came to Dean, pressing it into his hand. “Here.” Dean twisted off the cap and reached out to Cas, feeling his chest first and then running his hand up to his neck. He just watched. There was something in the way that Dean moved his fingers over him, gentle like he was mapping him. Dean’s fingers moved up his neck to his face. Dean pressed his fingers to Cas’ lips. He lifted the canteen with his other hand and brought it to Cas’ mouth.

“Drink.” And he did, because he couldn’t think of a way not too with Dean’s fingers guiding the end to his mouth. The water was pleasant and good. He hummed out that he was done, so that he wouldn’t get too much. They really had to get out of there. They did not have enough to make it much longer. “I can see a little. It’s all really hazy.” Cas was still holding the lighter near them. He moved it up closer to their faces.

“You can see me?”

“Not really. You’re there, but I can’t make out features.” Dean paused a beat and asked, “How old are you?”

“Twenty-seven.” Now he sat there in silence, noting the way that Dean’s hand was still on him, only now it was on his shoulder. “You?”

“Twenty.”

“You have family back home?” He had read Dean’s letter, just a little dip into the mind of the man he was sharing space with. It was the sort of thing he did, acquiring knowledge from wherever he could. He knew of the brother, the father. He noted the lack of a mother and girlfriend in the note, and made safe assumptions.

“I have a brother, Sam, and a father, John.” Dean sucked in a breath at the admission. “If I don’t make it, will you make sure they get my things?”

“Uh,” he started, but Dean interrupted.

“Oh, uh, sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. I mean, we barely know each other.” Cas let the light from the Zippo go out. He feared it would run out of fuel if he used it too much, and he had let it go for some time.

“It wasn’t that,” Cas interrupted. “I just assume that we will make it. I do not like to plan for death as then it might be a possibility.”

“You know that’s not how life works right?”

“Yeah, it’s just a silly superstition.” They fell into silence again, and Cas settled into the space next to Dean to rest before diving back into the digging. Time passed and they waited, breathing in the stale air together. Dean’s hand had fallen from him, but they still sat pressed close together. It felt safe even in the dark.

* * *

 

They worked the cave entrance for an hour before Dean asked, “You have family, Cas.”

“Yeah. I have a sister, Anna, and a mother named Naomi.” His voice sounded distant, and sometimes Dean thought that his accent wasn’t so pronounced. It was like when he was less guarded, he was someone else. He could hear Cas moving around at the back of the tunnel.

“Tell me about them.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, to pass the time.” Getting Cas talking was like pulling teeth. Dean thought that if he didn’t try they’d have exchanged only two or three words in the time they’d spent in this place.

Cas hummed a little, still near the back of the tunnel. “Anna is fiercely independent. We have a farm and she takes care of it pretty much on her own. My mom helps a bit, but not much. She has other work that occupies her. My father took off when we were kids. I don’t know if he’s alive or dead. We act like he’s dead. It’s what he seems to want, and it’s what he deserves.”

“Oh, sorry.” Dean thought about that and then asked, “What’s your mom do?”

Cas didn’t answer right away. Dean wondered if he had asked after something too private. “She works for the government. That’s all I can say about that.”

“Oh, sounds interesting.” Dean thought of his own family then. Not so interesting, but they were similar. His father worked in the State Department with their family friend Bobby. Sometimes they even stayed with Bobby when dad went off to take care of one task or another for the government. Sam had joked when dad left for work that, ‘dad was going on a hunting trip.’ It was their own little thing. Sometimes Dean thought that he wouldn’t make it home, and that they’d end up with Bobby permanently. He had thought that might not have been so bad.

“Tell me about your family.” Cas interrupted his thoughts. His words were rough again. Dean thought that he should convince him to drink more water. He was working harder after all.

“My brother’s turning eighteen in a few months. I’m hoping the war ends before he turns. I don’t want him joining.” He sucked in a breath and moved a larger rock. “Mom died when we were kids. There was a fire. Dad felt like it was something deliberate. He wanted to find the responsible parties and make them pay. He never found anyone to blame though, so his life has been spent hating and plotting. He’s a good man though, deep down.”

“I’m sorry, about your mom.”

“It’s okay. It was a long time ago.” They worked on in silence.

A few hours later and Cas said, “I’m gonna try the back tunnel.”

“Huh?” Dean asked.

“I think that we are in a desperate place now and that it is an option that needs to be explored.”

“I thought that you were afraid of tight places.”

“I am, but that is no excuse for dying.” He breathed in audibly. “I will have to leave you alone while I do this, but I will come back for you.” Pause. “I promise, Dean.”

“How can I help?”

“Just keep digging away at the entry. If this doesn’t work, then we will have to hope that we are almost free that way.” Dean nodded and listened as Cas made scurrying sounds out the back of the tunnel where the small exit shaft must have been.

* * *

 

He wasn’t afraid of tight spaces, but this space was testing that theory. He moved forward on his stomach by slow degrees. Scoot, breathe, scoot, breathe. He listened too, afraid of what might be on the other side. He guessed that it might be twenty feet to the end or a bend. His light seemed to cast illumination only that far. He carried the Zippo in front of him, luck and light to guide him in the dark.

In his mind he tried to keep his focus on the journey, but a little of Dean swam around in his mind too. There was something about him, even with all of his injuries, that was mesmerizing. He thought that it was not something physical, but instead it was the palpable resolve that the boy seemed to have. He was strong, both in character and in will. He was selfless, always claiming that he couldn’t finish his rations, even when it was clear that he could.

Dean was worthy of note, and worthy of this salvation, though he’d likely not agree. Sometimes he thought that Dean did not think that he deserved to be saved from this disastrous mission. He wondered why he had come to view himself with so little regard. There was a noise drifting to him from the far end of the tunnel. He let the Zippo go dark. He listened.

Wind howled through the space. It was an eerie sound that wrapped through the empty spaces around him. A chill spread over him with the wind, and he shook, and he waited for it to pass. It was a quiet moment of fear that kept him anchored there. He didn’t believe in ghosts, yet so many had died here on this mountain. So many were dying as he lay there in the dark, the walls of the tunnel surrounding him, cold and tight like a grave. He moved forward, and the wind howled louder, whipping around him, back the way he had come.

He closed his eyes and it was no darker than before. He feared what he’d see if they were open. Then his mind settled. The wind still blew and howled around him, but he was focused. Where there’s wind, there’s a pathway out. He felt the walls around him and calculated the space. He crawled forward. _Dean will fit. I’ll pull him through this if I have too._ He moved onward, smiling. The wind giving him a taste of promised freedom.

* * *

 

Cas came back. Dean had worried that he wouldn’t, and put that worried energy into moving rocks. He wondered how much progress he had made and if it was worth the utter exhaustion he felt. He had thought during his time alone that Cas would not come back because the way back would be tough. After all, he’d be facing his fear with a very real escape to the outside world staring him in the face. Why should he bother coming back for a virtual stranger? But he did come back, and Dean felt the fear and worry drop off like so much water after a storm.

“You came back.” It was the first thing he said when Cas collapsed on the floor at his feet.

“Of course I came back. I told you I would.” Then he was quiet except for his breathing, labored and so tired.

Dean came down to the floor next to him. “Are we leaving?”

“Yes, but not until we’ve rested.”

“You found a way out?”

Cas took a deep breath and said, “Yes, I think so. We just have to follow the wind.” Dean clapped him on the shoulder and said, “Well, good job buddy. We gonna leave soon then?”

“Yes, just let me sleep. You sleep too. We’ll both need our energy. The crawl is tough, and you’ll barely fit.”

Dean felt a small thread of worry pulling at his gut. He settled down next to Cas though. He shivered, but not from the cold, from the sheer anticipation concerning their inevitable escape. Cas curled up into his back. It was something that had become natural for them. Dean welcomed it, not just for the warmth. He welcomed it for the pleasure that it brought, though he’d be reluctant to admit it. Cas did not put his arm around Dean. He just lay there at Dean’s back, warm and inviting, breathing in and out in little puffs of sleepy air.

“Cas?” Dean whispered just in case he was already asleep.

“What Dean?”

“You got a girl back home?” He didn’t let himself think about why he asked.

“No, Dean. I don’t have a girl.” Dean let out a breath of air that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Cas moved closer to Dean’s back and settled an arm on Dean’s waist. This was new, entirely new, and Dean wasn’t complaining about that either. “Do you have someone back home?”

Dean noticed how he didn’t ask the question in the same way. “No, I don’t have someone.” Dean settled his own arm on top of Cas’ and threaded their fingers together. Dean felt Cas press his head to the space between his shoulder blades.

“Surprising.” Cas’ words were almost too quiet to be heard.

“Yeah, right. I’ve got a face that looks like it’s been put through a meat grinder. Ain’t no way my lack of prospects will be surprising to anyone.”

“I saw you before. I’ve seen you since. It is surprising.” He sucked in a breath of air against Dean’s back. “Now go to sleep, and stop saying foolish things. I don’t have the energy to argue with you about your aesthetic value.” Dean chose not to argue with him and instead focused on his words and the tiny puffs of air that fell into a pattern on his back. It wasn’t long before the peace of the moment lulled Dean into sleep.

 

* * *

 

He untangled himself from Dean as gently as he could without waking him up. It was a nice kind of sleep, the kind you don’t expect to find in a warzone. He struck up a flame on the Zippo, remembering when Anna had given it to him.

_Take it._

_I don’t smoke though._

_Except for those stinky cigars of yours. Doesn't matter though. You take it for luck. You take it to remember me._ She had pressed it into his hands, her eyes held him like she was making the moment something permanent.

He reached out and took the lighter, held it tightly in his hand. _I’ll take it with me everywhere I go._

 _Good. When you can’t see where you’re going, this can remind you, this can light your dark._ That was Anna. She always spoke in metaphors. She also loved him and wanted more for him than he wanted for himself. He hugged her tightly before he left, and felt her tears falling on his shoulder. She knew what he was doing and why. They had no secrets between them.

He thought of her often. Even now, in the tunnel, as he struck up the flame, he thought of home and safety. He looked down at Dean and wished that home could be more. He looked peaceful there, lips pooched out in sleep. His wounds were healing up. It had been many days. He reached out to him and brushed back the hair that had fallen into his face. Dean stirred a little.

“Time to wake up, Dean.”

Dean hummed into a stretch and looked toward him. “I can almost make out your shape. You’re just a little hazy.”

“That sounds like an accurate representation of me.” Cas reached out to him now. “So move toward the hazy mass. It’s time we were going.”

Dean took his hand and got up. They moved off to the tunnel where Dean would follow him through the dark. Cas put the Zippo into his pocket before hoisting himself up into the small space. “You ready for me to follow.”

“Yes. Hold my leg as we go, so you don’t feel lost.” He felt Dean grab him as he began shuffling into the tunnel. The tunnel was warm, unlike the space they had been in before. It was warm like it had been outside just before the mission. They had slept, as they could under the canopy of the heavens. The night air was sticky then, and everything was a little miserable. In the cave, though, he took comfort each night as he lay next to Dean, syphoning the cold off of him by their proximity. It was more than that though, there was pleasure in the closeness that he dare not think on too much. There was a mission, and survival that needed his focus.

They moved by slow degrees, in the dark toward what he had hoped was escape. He had not reached the end before coming back for Dean, but he had been confident enough. Dean’s hand on his calf was comfort in the dark. They had opted not to speak unless absolutely necessary. There was some fear that their voices would travel and that their words might reach the enemy if it turned out that the cave that they were in still happened to be occupied.

A wind blew through the tunnel as it had before. The tunnel was at its tightest. He could feel when Dean was struggling to get his hips and shoulders through the tighter places. Dean managed though, and that was good. The wind howled, and caused him to pause and close his eyes. Dean’s voice came to him, quietly. “You got this. I’m right here.”

He smiled, and he moved forward, Dean’s hand on him. The tunnel widened a bit. The wind blew stronger. Cas felt the promise of it on his face and picked up the pace. Dean moved faster too. Suddenly the tunnel opened up wide into an empty space. He stood and reached down to pull Dean up with him. He flicked on the Zippo and nearly dropped it the moment he did so. “Oh my God.” Cas fell to his knees at Dean’s side.

“What is it?” Dean clutched at Cas’ arm and repeated himself, “Cas, what is it?”

Cas felt the full shock of the vision burning into his eyes. There were bodies, so many bodies. There was a reason that they hadn’t heard the enemy. The enemy was dead. They had chosen to end on their terms. Cas held the lighter up high to see how far the bodies went. There were around twenty of them. Dean squeezed his arm. “They’re all dead.”

“Who?”

“We found one of their tunnels, but they’re all dead.”

“The Japs or our guys?” Dean asked.

“The enemy.” Dean wrapped an arm around him, and Cas helped guide him away from the worst of it. He moved his arm up to Dean’s shoulder. Dean allowed him to direct his course. Ahead there was the opening that they had hoped for. Cas thought that he could see the moonlight’s watery beams spilling down into their Hell.

“I see light,” Dean said.

“I think we’ve found the way out.” Cas squeezed Dean to him and then moved his arm to hold him up better.

* * *

 

Somehow they had managed to get down the slope without getting shot, a minor miracle. Dean leaned heavily onto Cas’ arm that was now wrapped around him, under his arm. He had felt like he’d just crumble, the days of fatigue and malnourishment and dehydration were finally catching up with him.

They found a unit at the base of the mountain. A medic had been called over to them. Cas did all the explaining. Someone was touching him, checking his vitals. Cas came to his side and said, “They’re gonna take you out for some proper medical attention.”

“Yeah, figured. What about you?” Dean felt Cas’ hand on his shoulder.

“I’m fine.” He wasn’t. Dean could tell by his tone.

“Let them send you out with me. We’ve done enough here. Let them look you over.” Dean tried not to sound desperate. _What did you expect?_

“I have work to do here. And you have your health to recover.” He leaned down then. Dean could feel his movements, and see them just a little. Cas brought his head down close to Dean’s ear and said, “‘Til we meet again.” And Dean thought he felt a brief brush of lips on his cheek and then a little squeeze to his arm.

Then Cas was gone. Dean never quite found words. Not long after he was whisked away to recuperate in some godforsaken hospital. While there, he heard that the Allies had taken the island of Iwo Jima. It took them thirty-six days. He had the nurses scan the lists for losses. They never read off Cas’ name. Dean took some comfort in that.

Germany fell a few months later, but Dean was sent home. He could see, but the healing was taking some time. He wasn’t able to serve anymore. He got back just in time for Sam’s deployment. He smiled through the announcement, hoping that the façade that he created with that smile would mask his worry. Their father wasn’t shocked, but Dean was. He had hoped that Sam would manage to avoid it all.

Luckily for them all, the war only lasted through September, though. So Sam didn’t see any major action. Dean took comfort in that. At nights sometimes, when the wind blew through his open window, he could almost smell the sticky island air. And when he lay alone in his bed, sometimes he’d imagine that there was warmth at his back, helping him to fight off the lonesome night chills. On those nights, Dean would curl his hand into the sheets at his stomach and hold on, as if he were a world away, and not so alone.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean awoke from a nightmare, the sound of artillery fire still fresh in his ears. Even now with his eyes open, the room was too dark and seemed to be closing in on him. He had his hand on his gun under his pillow. A hunting knife was under his mattress, close to the edge. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark, daring anything in the room to even try to come for him.

 

A little light was coming in through the window. It was chasing away the shadows. It was why he liked living in the city. It was never completely dark here. He got out of his bed and moved to the window to draw back the threadbare curtain that was there, keeping out just a little of the light. On the distant horizon he could see the taller skyscrapers casting light from their many windows. The city was always like that, something to rely upon.

 

Dean settled into the chair that was next to his makeshift desk. His journal was laid open in front of him. He practically had the pages memorized, but he read them anyway. _Sam’s contacts…_ A horn honked loud and long in the distance. Dean looked out onto the street. The amber light coming from the streetlamps made the world a little eerie.

 

Everything felt off, more so than usual. Sam had been gone for three weeks. They’d learned that he was captured two weeks ago. Apparently, though, he’d been in their custody for just over a month. They had thought that he had just gone into a bit of radio silence for his current mission. Even when they got the initial reports concerning his disappearance, they held onto hope. They hadn’t realized that he’d been truly lost to them. It killed Dean to wait, to sit on his thumbs so to speak. Bobby made him stay though. Told him that even his father would have stayed if he were still alive. This didn’t do much for Dean, but his dad had been headstrong and some thought reckless too. If Bobby thought he would have been able to wait, then maybe he needed to take a page from that book.

 

He skimmed the journal again. He noted the dates and times that Sam had met with his contact in the GDR. Sam had sent home intel after each meeting. The first piece of intel involved Bobby. The next message confirmed that Sam’s cover had been compromised. And although Dean had told him to come home, Sam said he could handle it. He’d handled it until he didn’t.

 

The sun was coming up. The shadows on the street were departing. Dean got up and poured a finger of whisky into his glass and downed it all in a single gulp. He considered crawling back into the bed again. He could steal another hour’s worth of sleep if his body would just comply. He knew the effort would be wasted though. Instead he’d get a jump start on the day. Bobby was likely already in the office waiting for him.

 

There were others that could do the interrogations. There were others that could do a lot of what Dean did, but they were not nearly as skilled. He recognized all of the little tells that most wouldn’t. He could see the slightest shift at the corner of one’s eye and know that all that was said was a lie. He also knew how to apply just the right amount of pressure, just the right amount of added pain, and to where. Dean knew people, and what made them tick. He always got to the truth, got to the buried secrets. He was feared by the enemy, despite the fact that most didn’t even know his face. He had earned his reputation in the shadows.

 

Today he’d do it all again, just the same, only this time it’d be for Sam.

 

* * *

 

The harsh scent of Lysol drifted down the hall, the disinfectant of choice for the detention facility that the agency had been occupying for the past two months. Dean rounded the corner at the end of the too-grey hall and the smell was stronger. Morty, the janitor, was just bustling out of the restroom, the giant bottle of Lysol sitting on top of his cleaning cart.

He gave Dean a nod, and Dean gave him a nod back. They didn’t exchange words. At the end of the hall was the office of his superior. His heavy steps echoed out ahead of him as he walked quick and sure to the place. He went in without hesitation. Inside the room was warm and inviting, in direct contrast to the bland corridors that one had to traverse to get to this space. The walls had been painted in soft, neutral tones. There was art, large paintings of landscapes more ethereal than reality would present. Dean liked the space. He felt comfortable just showing up to check in or to offer up a thought or two on a recent job or area of focus.

The large picture window was awash in bright golden sunlight. It cast the one occupant of the room in a brilliant halo. She was the lone secretary in the place, the likely brains behind all operations. Her name was Karen or Miss K as most would call her. Somehow the shortening of the name seemed to connote respect. Dean strolled up to her desk and settled onto the corner of it. “So, is the old man in?”

“Where else would he be, Mr. Winchester?” Miss K looked up at him and seemed to adopt a smile that was indulgent and just a little flirtatious. This was part of their song and dance. Neither one was at all attracted to the other, or at least that was the case for Dean, but life was currently overwhelming, and this was not.

“Ah, well he could be out purchasing some flowers for your desk or making reservations at Chez Marquez.” Dean winked at her as she blushed a bit.

“You’re too much, Dean. You know that he’s too professional for that. Not like someone else I know.” She turned away from him and pretended that she had pressing matters to attend to at the file cabinet behind her desk.

Dean got up and moved over to the other door. “Has nothing to do with professionalism. He likes you, and he should follow up on that before someone else does.” Dean had his hand on the door handle, prepared to end the conversation on that note.

Miss K raised an eyebrow to him, her lips curled up in a cocky half-grin. “You thinking of making your own move on that front, Dean?” It was forward and still a little playful.

Dean chuckled a little. There was a lift in the way that she said his name, a tone that warmed and warned him all at once. “Ah, Miss K, I wouldn’t know what to do with you. You’re way out of my league.” He tipped his head and to forestall any further conversation, he opened the door to the interior office and went in.

Robert Singer was sitting at the wide mahogany desk, a mess of papers littering the space in front of him. He was normally an organized man, but the past week had been a havoc of activity. He looked up at Dean’s still-grinning face and said, “You bothering Miss K again?”

Dean closed the door behind him and strolled over to the high-backed red leather seat across from him. “I wouldn’t call it bothering.” Dean smiled at him. “When are you going to ask her out?”

Singer looked up from the papers with something like irritation. “Did you come in here to have some sort of juvenile chick-chat with me or do you have a purpose? Not sure if you got the memo, but I’m rather busy.”

Dean just smiled at him. This was their pattern. Singer was brusque and surly at first, but he was also kind and motivated by a deep sense of doing right in the world. He was a man to be respected, and he had all of Dean’s respect. “Never too busy to make time for the finer things in life, Bobby.” He used the informal name and that was usually enough to smooth over any rough patches that had begun forming.

Singer looked at him across the desk like he wasn’t quite ready to be at all relaxed, but a moment passed, and relaxation was finally allowed to take over. “You about ready to head out to the holding cell, start the interrogations?” He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands in front of him while he waited for Dean’s answer.

Dean let the question sit there for a moment. He hated this part of the job. He hated the way that it was all rather uncivilized. _It was 1954 after all and they should have better methods than this._ He had thought this countless times, but it hardly made a difference. He could think it and think it, but that wouldn’t change a thing. He also wouldn’t be any less qualified for the job just because he wanted to be. Bobby waited. His face had slipped into an expression that was more paternal. Dean sucked in a breath. “You know I hate this part.”

“I know. If there was any other way, any other person as capable, I’d pull you out of it in a heartbeat.” He looked sincere, and Dean believed him. “At least this one is getting us one step closer to getting Sam back.”

Dean pushed aside thoughts of Sam. If he thought about him too much he'd go crazy. Distraction was the only way through. Banter with K, joking with Bobby, and as much alcohol as he could stomach, that’s what would get him through Sam’s incarceration. He let himself look at Bobby though, and he saw the sympathy in his eyes. It made him fall into thoughts of Sam again and how much he was truly worried. “This one bothers me more than most.”

“Why?”

“I don’t like the fact that we know so little about him. He has no past, no attachments to anything. He’s nobody.” Dean let out a long frustrated sigh and slipped down further into the seat.

“Well, that's because you’ve only read the dossier. Talking to him will give you more. You’re skilled, Dean. I’ve seen you pull information out of a stone.” Bobby leaned back toward his desk and rested his chin on his folded hands.

“I’d rather deal with stones. Forensics have always been more of my thing. Give me a case to solve, and I’m as happy as the day is long. This though, the human stuff, I don’t like what it does to me. I go in and I don’t like what comes out.”

Bobby got up then and walked over to him. He settled a hand on his shoulder and Dean looked up at his face. “I wish there was another way. We think that he knows some things though, and we know that we won’t be able to keep him long. A trade will happen. He's gonna be our ticket to getting Sam back. That’s why we need you to get what you can before that happens.”

Dean knew all of this; he really did. He just didn’t like it. This was more than half of his job. Technically speaking, he was a member of the CIA, but that was only technically. Bobby was in charge of a smaller, much more covert division that did not have a name beyond the concrete walls that surrounded them. They collectively referred to themselves as The Agency. They did the work that the other, more official branches of the government could not afford to get tangled up in.

As the issues with Russia seemed to become something much more worthy of note, the State Department decided that they needed to set up a special division, one that could work under a different set of expectations.

They moved their base of operations every month or two. They were mostly out in the field, tracking those that had breached their borders intent on stealing the government’s most precious secrets. Occasionally, he got to travel to other parts of the world. He spent a fair amount of time stationed in Berlin, watching, waiting. That was what John did before he died.  He had moved with Bobby into the more covert operations that their new division undertook. His earlier efforts for the State Department had supplied ample preparation for his new life. Dean thought of that now, how easily he had fallen into his father's footsteps once he had died, and even a bit before that.

The man that he would question likely lived a similar life. He was a spy. He was working for the KGB and had made the mistake of having been shot making his way back into East Berlin. They had treated his wounds and had let him settle into the quiet life of a man confined to a drab cell. Dean had not ventured out to see him. He had studied his file though. He had looked over the scant bits of information that the five pages had to offer. He looked at the photograph of the man’s face, clean shaven, crisp, winter blue eyes, deep brown hair. His expression was neutral in the photograph, but something about it spoke of power. Dean was haunted by the face. It visited him in dreams. It mocked him.

Bobby’s hand slipped away from his shoulder. Dean got up then. “Guess I can’t put it off any longer then. How long do you think you can get for me?” He knew the way that it usually went. There was usually someone that the Ruskies had that was equally valuable. In this case, Dean knew who the man would be. He knew all too well. When it came down to it, he didn’t want Bobby to get him more time. He wanted less.

Sammy would clearly be the ideal trade here. Getting him back was of paramount importance. Dean knew that he wouldn’t crack, knew that he would put up with the torture and the hopelessness. He was tough. He also knew though that there would be a point at which it would all be too much. If they crossed that threshold, the Sammy that they got back would likely not be Sammy at all. He’d be some soulless remnant of the brother that Dean had, a man that might never be repaired.

Bobby returned to his desk and sat back down. “You’ll get a month, I reckon. The negotiations have barely started. I imagine that it will be tricky getting Sam back. They know that he is important, but I’m willing to bet that Dmitri Krushnic is rather important too.

Dean propelled himself up from the chair, marched over to the door. He looked back. “Guess I’ll get started today then.”

* * *

 

The room was a dark space with small, narrow windows near the ceiling providing the only light in the cell. There was a fluorescent recessed light in the ceiling that was switched off. Dean looked at the room before stepping into it. The man that he would question was sitting in the corner stiff and still. He was staring fixedly at the distant wall which had nothing of any visual stimulus to offer. Dean reached up to his collar and felt the tie there. He wedged a finger into the area just past the knot and loosened it a bit.

“Mr. Krushnic,” Dean addressed him as he strode into the space. He walked along the perimeter of the cell to the table that took up the central portion of the room. Today would involve feeling out the situation, getting a read on him.

He looked up at Dean from his seat on the cot. His expression changed minutely. His eyes opened a little bit more, a small show of pleasure. _That can’t be right._ He also appeared at first weak and delicate. It gave Dean a pause that he schooled back so as not to have it detected, but he felt it in the muscles in his chest, the clenching that came from all that he knew would come after these early interactions.

Dean chose to sit on the edge of the table, one leg slightly higher than the other. It was a posture that he could easily move from if Mr. Krushnic chose to attack him. It was also a posture that looked relaxed. They rarely attacked, but Dean had learned early on that one cannot be too prepared.

Dean waited. When Krushnic finally spoke, it was in a voice that Dean was not prepared for. There was an underlying rawness to the sound of it, like he was recovering from a cold. “Hello, Mr. Winchester.”

Dean felt his chest tighten again. There was no reason for Dmitri Krushnic to know his name. “Have we met?” The question, Dean hoped, did not reveal his concern.

“You’ve never seen me.” He paused a second, enough to be noticed, then continued, “but I’ve seen you.” He moved his hands to his thighs and settled them there palms flat. He did not move beyond that, but Dean adjusted his own posture with the move. He noted the way that Krushnic’s muscles were hard ridges visible through his pants and long sleeved shirt. Dean noted the way that he seemed like a wire pulled tight, ready to snap at any moment. Dean realized then that he was not actually small or delicate. He had donned a look of weakness and now it was gone. The move with his hands seemed like a move designed to ready him for a launch in Dean’s direction. Dean was ready for it. Nothing happened though.

“I’m a ghost. You couldn’t possibly know a thing about me.” Dean let his lips pull up into a smile that wrinkled his nose a little.

Krushnic’s voice became impossibly lower. His thick Russian accent colored all of his words in a way that made Dean focus much more fully on what was said. “There is much that I know. So much. You are hoping that I know enough to prove useful to you, to your brother too.”

Dean felt his body move from the table to the floor like spilled water. He loomed over Krushnic, who hadn’t moved. “What do you know of my brother?”

“Everything, but lately nothing.” He looked up at Dean past thick, dark lashes. “He’s alive. He’s strong.”

Dean bit back the rage that threatened to spill over. He wound back the energy that had propelled him toward Krushnic. He did not usually lose his focus, his control, but Sammy was his trigger, his one thing that would drive him to desperate places. He turned his back on Krushnic and moved to the table. He pressed his palms flat to the cool surface and focused. He needed to begin mapping him. He couldn’t do that if his emotions were wound too tightly.

Dean moved from the front of the table to the door. He popped it open and motioned to one of the agents that was stationed out there. “Coffee.” Dean watched the young man stroll off down the hall to get him the drink. This was a thing Dean did. The inmates were given the bare necessities. Coffee was not a necessity. He kept his ears tuned to Krushnic, but he did not look at him. With the one word, coffee, Dean heard movement, slight and telling. A minute passed, then two. The agent came back with a tray and one mug of coffee. He included a small container of cream and sugar on the tray. Near the one edge was a single teaspoon.

There had been concern before over having utensils in the room. They could be used as weapons, but Dean had brushed such concerns off, and now there was a single spoon. The spoon was important, Dean thought, because its use was civilized. Unflavored oatmeal in the morning, unsalted soup in the afternoon, and unseasoned meat and vegetables in the evening made up the complete collection of foods that the inmates would experience. They had managed to make all of the meals edible without utensils. The soup and the oatmeal were so thinned by water and milk that one could easily drink them. The meat could be eaten with one’s hands.

Dean took the tray to the table and set it on the far side, away from Krushnic. He took a seat, unbuttoning his suit jacket as he did so. He made a point of scraping the seat back along the tiled floor in a way that would make most cringe. He chanced a glance at Krushnic. His face was a mask. He was staring at the far wall again as he had been when Dean had first entered the room. This was the challenge though. Dean had to spot the subtleties. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a notebook. It was bound in leather and refillable. He set it on the table next to the tray. He pulled a pen out of a pocket inside of his jacket. The pen was another questionable item. Dean managed to convince them of its necessity. It helped that he was capable in hand-to-hand combat as well. Most would not stand a chance against a man with Dean’s skill set.

This was the part that most would rush. After losing his control with the mentioning of Sammy, Dean had found the need to be particularly cautious. It was important to let the moment settle. Let the smell of the coffee fill the room with all of its nostalgia. It was strong coffee, dark like deep moonless nights that Dean had spent in Cuba investigating the quiet stirrings of revolution. Nothing happened in those quiet days spent in Havana. The world was calm there.

Dean lifted the coffee to his face and breathed in the earthy aroma. He set it back down and began toying with the spoon. He watched Krushnic for changes. “Join me at the table, Mr. Krushnic.” Dean tipped his head with the invitation and waited for eye contact. Krushnic looked at him slowly like he had to drag his eyes away from the most fascinating grey wall ever to grace a space. He got up just as slowly and moved to the table. He scraped the chair back noisily, just as Dean had before.

“So now you will interview me?” He folded his hands in front of him on the table. He gave off an air of calm.

“You make it sound so formal.” Dean lifted the lid to the sugar container and used the spoon to scoop out two spoonfuls which he tipped into the coffee. He didn’t dump the sugar in from the spoon. He let it pour off in a steady stream. He watched Krushnic while he did this. There was no change. Next he poured the cream into the cup until the coffee was sea-soaked beach sand in color. He stirred the coffee with the spoon, letting it clink about on the insides a little. He pulled it out and put the spoon in his mouth to clean it before returning it to the tray. Dean leaned back in the chair a little and noticed Krushnic’s eyes slip over onto the mug of coffee. It was brief. “I’d like to ask a few questions, but let’s not call it an interview.”

“Call it what you will.” Krushnic looked across the table at Dean, gaze steady and hands still clasped in front of him. Dean tapped the pen against the notebook, part of his calculated moves designed to make him look casual.

“You were shot near the border of the GDR trying to get back into East Berlin.” Dean watched him. He noted a slight twitch to the man’s brow. Dean opened the notebook to a blank page and wrote, D.K. 8/8/54, 9 am. He wrote shot, t.b. He did not attempt to hide his notes. He knew that Krushnic would wonder what his shorthand meant. It would be interesting to watch him wonder.

“You assume things, Mr. Winchester.”

“I assume a lot of things.” Dean let himself smile. He set down the pen and said, “What were you doing in West Berlin? You were almost back in the Eastern Block.”

“I was almost in the west, you mean.” Krushnic was watching him, still calm. Dean picked up the mug of coffee. He took a sip. This was the moment where the inmate discovers that the coffee is not for him. Krushnic’s response was predictable, a slight twitch to his lips, involuntary. Dean let the coffee fill his mouth. He set down the mug and swallowed in one audible gulp. Krushnic seemed to take the movements in with a type of thirst present in his eyes.

“I meant, you were almost back in the east. What were you doing in Berlin?”

“I had business in Berlin, pressing matters. I’m surprised that anyone would have concerned themselves with my presence. The civilian movement in that region has been immense.” Krushnic moved his hands back to his lap.

Dean wrote in the notebook again. Business Berlin h.l. “Who were you meeting in Berlin?”

“Hmm, I thought that you would build to such questions Mr. Winchester. Shouldn’t there be a round of torture first, a little light domination from you before the, how do you say it, cutting to the chase.” Krushnic’s brow lifted high, and his lips were mirthful. He looked like he was enjoying the moment.

Dean laughed, “I figured we were getting on so well, why not just, as you say, get to the part where we are cutting to the chase.” Dean took another sip of the coffee and leaned back in his chair. Krushnic’s smile fell a little when Dean swallowed. Dean covered his own smile with the mug.

He picked his pen back up and wrote f.f. post torture. Krushnic looked down at the note. He put his hands back on the table. He reached across and tapped the notebook. “What does that mean?”

Dean continued to smile. “I keep notes for the things that I need to address.”

“Do you intend to use torture?” He did not sound scared. Dean wanted to note that in the book. He waited though.

“Some surprises are best kept secret.” Dean leaned forward a little. “You said that you were aware of me, of my brother too. How so?”

“Perhaps we can negotiate the sharing of that information. You wish to know how I know of you?”

“And my brother.” Dean did not lose his focus this time. He kept his voice calm.

“I would like a cup of coffee.” Dean did not expect that.

“Coffee?” Krushnic nodded. “And you’ll tell me how you know of me and Sam Winchester?”

“I will.” Dean lifted the mug and set it on the table between them. He gave it a nod. Krushnic did not hesitate. He turned the mug, and then picked it up, drinking down the last of the coffee in two loud swallows. He closed his eyes and seemed to concentrate on the flavor. He hummed out a long, low sigh.

“So, Krushnic, you were saying.” Normally, Dean would have gotten his information first, but he didn’t exactly expect anything either. Half of a cup of coffee was hardly much.

“I know of your methods because you tortured my comrade, Uriel. He told tales of your techniques. He found you humorous.”

“Well then that must mean that your friend Uriel has a strange sense of humor.” Dean remembered Uriel.

“He is the funniest man I know.” Krushnic held the mug between his hands now as if it were a vessel for all of his prayers. “I know of your brother, Agent Winchester, because I was in the room with him while Uriel interrogated him on his first day with us.”

Dean felt himself growing uncomfortable. His muscles tightened with the mentioning of Sam’s interrogation. He knew that it was happening. He knew all that went into such a thing, but without giving the idea words, he could pretend that it wasn’t the worst thing in the world. He could tell himself that Sam was strong, Sam was a fighter. He wouldn’t be hurt. He was too valuable whole and unharmed. Dean knew though, he knew. Krushnic’s words merely brought that knowledge to the surface. Dean picked up the pen and wrote. D.K. coffee 2s. i.e. Dean got up from the table slowly. He flipped the cover of the notebook closed and tapped it with his finger.

He reached out and took the mug from Krushnic’s hands. Krushnic did not fight him. Dean set the mug back on the tray, and turned his attention to the man in front of him. “I think that will be enough for today, Mr. Krushnic.” Dean picked up the notebook and slipped it into his pocket along with the pen. He took the tray to the door and balanced it in one hand while he opened the door. Dean let his lip curl back up into a smile, and he said, “Enjoy your stay. I’m sure your people are eager to get you back, but I’ve been assured that I have plenty of time to get to know you.” The expression that flitted across Krushnic’s face was not what Dean expected, something bordering on worry. Dean felt a little flutter of happiness at that. _He should be worried._ Dean wanted him to be worried.

Dean pushed past the door and the agent monitoring the hall took care of the locks as Dean stalked back down the hall the way he had come. The echo of his steps were fast and solid, matching the hard rhythm of his heart.

* * *

 

He went home after the initial interrogation. Bobby would not expect a report on the same day. He knew that sometimes Dean liked to process such things, and the results were always beyond reproach. His home, or more accurately, the place that he was sleeping in this week, was one mile from the detention facility. Dean would usually walk to and from his place. It gave him a chance to collect his thoughts.

The apartment was near what most would have called a seedier side of town. The corners were often populated with men of questionable character. They would hover around light posts, cigarettes dangling from lips..

Dean found the neighborhood comfortable. He didn’t mind the people here. He felt like he wasn’t so judged when he walked down the street, another man’s blood just washed from his hands moments before. It was hardly different in the daylight. There was a different crowd out and about, younger. It was approaching noon by the time that he had managed to escape the claustrophobia-inducing halls and too-grey walls of the detention facility. He found that escape from that place was often necessary if he were to ever really think. He had an office there that he only used begrudgingly. Home was better. Home was easier.

The corner just before his building was often a desolate place in the daylight hours. There was a small market that supplied a few of the sundry items that bachelors would need. This neighborhood seemed ripe with them. There were no children playing stickball in the street, no women running laundry lines between the buildings, just an excess of testosterone. He popped into the market and grabbed a basket to load up on the essentials. He made sure to get whiskey first, because he knew he’d need it if he started thinking about Sam again, and he would most definitely be thinking about Sam.

He considered dinner and the various items that were already occupying his pantry. He decided on pasta and loaded up his basket with what he would need to make a bolognese. The neighborhood wasn’t far from Little Italy, and although he could just find a restaurant, that would involve feeling odd. Asking for a table for one was always a little unpleasant.

The old guy behind the counter rang him up and didn’t strike up a conversation. Dean didn’t even know his name, despite the fact that he was here on a near-daily basis. He paid and took his bag out with him. Next to the market was a bar. He could see the light from the sign most nights glowing up through his window. The sign said Seer’s, and although Dean had asked if it was someone’s name or if it had a back story, no one seemed to know. It was dead now, and the sign would remain dark until well after sunset. It wasn’t an establishment that would cater to daytime drinkers. Its clientele would only show up after most respectable people had gone to sleep. Dean slowed his steps as he passed the door, glancing at it wistfully as he made his way to the steps leading up to his apartment.

Dean did not particularly like the apartment. It was nothing special. It was just one large room with a kitchen, bathroom, and a window. He had a pullman bed that he would have to lower each night from the wall. He had a table that was both for eating and for working. The evidence of the latter was still present on the seat wedged under it. Dean set down his bag of groceries in the kitchen and set about putting things away.

He considered making dinner early, but it was barely lunch time, and no time for a hearty meal. Instead, he looked into his fridge and found some cold chicken from the night before. He carried the plate over to his table and made short work of the eating. When he finished, he would be able to focus on his notes, all three lines of them. Dean silently cursed himself yet again for losing his control. He had done this countless times. Reacting, letting Krushnic see how rattled he was, could set the interrogation back so much.

He blamed sleep for his mood. He blamed worry for Sam. He blamed himself most of all. His world was guilt and judgement, some past, some carried. He pulled out his notebook. He didn’t open it right away. He thought over the few sentences that he had pulled from Dmitri Krushnic. He hadn’t exactly pulled anything from Krushnic. It was all offered up without hesitation.

 _First sentence: Hello, Mr. Winchester._ Dean began writing out a transcript of the dialogue that he had experienced. The first sentence, though, mattered a great deal. Dean had done nothing yet. He had merely walked into the room, and Krushnic made it clear that he knew Dean. _Why?_

Dean thought about the next string of sentences pausing when he came to the one about Sam. _You are hoping that I know enough to prove useful to you, to your brother too._ Dean set down his pen for a moment and closed his eyes. The way that Krushnic’s voice fell low as he said those words played out in Dean’s head again. He felt his muscles clench up with the memory of it. Then he moved his mind over to the last thing that he had shared, _I know of your brother, Agent Winchester, because I was in the room with him while Uriel interrogated him on his first day with us._ Dean felt the shiver that ran over his body with the memory of the words.

He got up and found the whiskey. He poured himself a glass and carried that and the rest of the bottle back to the table. He stared down at the notes. _D.K. coffee 2s. i.e._ He used the initials of the person that he interrogated. He liked to give them that much. Sometimes he wrote things that meant nothing. Oftentimes though it all meant something. In this case, Dmitri Krushnic drank his coffee in two swallows. Dean remembered the quick roll of the man’s throat, the bob of the adam’s apple. Krushnic drank like a nervous man. The i.e. tied with what he had said about Uriel and being present during Sam’s interrogation.

That part gave Dean the most pause. Uriel had been difficult. It had taken Dean two months to break the man. He was one of the ones that had attacked. Their first meeting had resulted in Dean’s hand being broken. Dean had done some damage to Uriel too though. When he reentered the room four days after their first “meeting,” Dean had to suppress a smile at the patchwork of bruises that left Uriel’s face a mottled mess.

Dean had started with the coffee. Uriel pretended not to care at first. Dean recorded the tells. Dean had pictures of some of Uriel’s family. Uriel still pretended not to care, though not as well. Over time, Uriel shared one word answers. When they began putting him in darkness for extended periods, he shared more. When they were getting close to the end of their negotiations, they knew that they had to increase the pressure. Dean had many methods that seemed so simple on the surface, but the pain that was brought about from those methods was anything but.

He had gone home with thoughts of blood, the smell of blood, the agony of pleas, all filling his head space. He shut down, drank whiskey, and let Sam distract him. Sam was good at that. He’d take him out to dinner, help him focus on other things. Sam knew what it was to carry this job into the outside world, what it did to you. Sam somehow managed to set it all aside. _He’s stronger_ , Dean thought. And in that moment, Dean hoped that he was still stronger, strong enough at least to get through the months of _interrogation_ that someone like Uriel would enjoy.

Dean looked at the letters again. Krushnic had interrogation experience. There would be no other reason for him to have been in the room with Uriel or Sam. If he had experience, then he would know how to handle someone like Dean. If he knew Uriel, he would know a great deal about Dean’s techniques. Dean closed his eyes again and let out an audible breath of air into the silence. _He’s playing me._ _Why?_ It wasn’t often that he came out of an interrogation with more questions than he had going in.

Dean poured himself another splash of whiskey. He felt unnerved. He drank it down in one swallow and made his way over to his bed. He pulled it down from the wall and let himself fall down onto it. He would just sleep for a bit, let the ideas stir.

* * *

 

When he awoke, it was with Krushnic’s face haunting his sleep. The rest did nothing for him. He looked at the window to determine the time. It was dark and the light that streamed into the room was coming from Seer’s sign. Dean got up and moved to the window to look down at the street. The usual gatherings of men pocked the corners and alleyways. There were roughly twelve at a glance, two in the alley, four at the end of the block, cigarettes occasionally glowing from their faces, another pair moved into Seer’s, and three were across the street. The last was in a long dark overcoat, collar popped up around his neck seemingly to stave off the cool night air. It was more likely a cover for who he was should anyone give him a second look. His hat was pulled low over his forehead to add to his subterfuge. He leaned against the wall near the door to Seer’s as if this was a perfectly natural place to linger. Dean saw this type often, the men just confident enough to make their way to this place, but still nervous enough to want to hide a bit.

Dean watched the man as he pulled out a cigarette and lit it with a quick flick of his match. He shook off the match and tossed it to the sidewalk. The temporary glow of the match had set his face in angles sharp and dark. Dean rested his hand on the edge of the window frame and leaned his forehead forward until it rested on the cold glass. _Maybe._ His mouth still tasted like whiskey and he had not yet eaten dinner. _There’s a little more chicken left,_ he thought.

In that moment, he opted to eat the leftovers again, and go to the bar. He needed to clear his head. He needed a distraction. He put on his own hat and light coat before he left the apartment. He always wore a few extra layers. They came in handy in a fight, more cushion between him and his assailant. He wasn’t fixing for a fight though, just preparing for any eventuality.  He slipped his Beretta 9mm into the inside pocket of his coat. He was sure he wouldn’t need it, but he liked the security of being armed better than the rest.

When he emerged from the complex, the cooler than normal summer air greeted him. The apartment had been a bit too warm. He moved down the steps over to Seer’s. The man was still there, his cigarette nearly a stub. He looked at Dean past a smoky exhale. Dean asked, “They serve martinis?” Dean would order a whiskey, but that hardly mattered.

The man didn’t answer right away. “I hear they do.” He seemed to be considering Dean a bit before he said more. “I believe that’s all they serve.” His lip curled up a little around his cigarette. Dean didn’t smoke, but he thought about giving it a go for social purposes. The man tossed the stub to the sidewalk and stepped on it, grinding it a little into the pavement. He reached out to the door then and held it open as he said, “So you going in?”

“Yeah.” Dean let his mouth curl up into a slight smirk. He moved past the door into the dark bar, and the man followed at his heel.

* * *

 

Dean woke up the next morning, head pounding, body sore. _At least I’m in bed._ He cracked open an eye against the harsh sunlight that was shining through his threadbare curtains. _Gotta get better curtains,_ he thought, not for the first time. He rolled onto his back and stretched out to the four corners of the bed. He ran his hands up over his face and back into his hair, feeling old scars near his hairline from long ago. They were small though, and only seemed to add a bit of character to his look.

He tossed his feet over the side of the mattress and felt the grittiness of the cold floor. It woke him up a little more. He stumbled off to the bathroom and without turning on the light made his way to the sink to splash some water on his face. He moved away from the sink and took care of business before returning to the sink. He pressed his palms to the cool edges and just held on. His head was pounding. _Less whiskey next time._ He knew though that next time would come, and he would try yet again to wipe out the worries that lingered, the guilt too.

The light from the other room wasn’t enough, so he reached over to the wall and snapped on the bathroom light. It sent a piercing pain through his eyes into the back of his skull. He assessed the damage. His face looked fine enough, eyes a little baggy. He considered the ramifications of not shaving before going in. He tipped his head to the side to really consider it. Then he saw the small bit of purple low on his neck. _Shit._ He rolled his jaw and looked at the other side. _All clear._ He decided to shave.

When he finished, a shower seemed necessary, and then there was breakfast to consider and skip. He picked out a suit to wear that was a little out of fashion. The shirt collar was higher than it should be. He had last worn it to his father’s funeral. He made short work of buttoning it up and adjusting the cufflinks before dashing out the door.

He walked to the facility at a brisk clip. He would meet with Bobby later in the afternoon, bounce some ideas off of him. The notebook felt large in his pocket, pressed solidly against his chest. He hadn't managed to make sense of Krushnic. His motives were a mystery and Dean did not like mysteries.

Dean went directly to the holding cell and greeted agent Henrickson. “Should I get the coffee ready?”

“Yeah, and maybe some breakfast,” Dean leaned against the wall across from Henrickson while he juggled some keys, trying to find the right one for the door.

“Sometimes I think this is your favorite part, having us bring you breakfast and coffee while calling it part of the interrogation.” Henrickson had a smile on his face as he said it though, and Dean knew that he didn’t resent him for it.

“I’m thinking donuts,” Dean said with a smirk. Henrickson pushed open the door and Dean went right in.

“I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.” Henrickson looked past Dean to Krushnic. He was sitting on his cot just like he had been the day before. Today, though, he turned to Dean as he entered and smiled.

Dean felt the smile hit him. It threw his steps off minutely. Henrickson went away, and the door closed behind him. Dean walked directly to the table and unbuttoned his jacket. He pulled out the chair quietly and sat down. He motioned to the chair across from him, but did not speak.

Krushnic got up and came to the chair. He rested his hands on the back of it before pulling it out to sit. Dean just watched him. Dean slowly pulled out his notebook and set it on the table. He removed his pen from his pocket and silently tapped the cover of the book. He looked from Krushnic to the windows up near the ceiling, then back. Krushnic had a slight smile on his face again.

“You seem to be in good spirits.” Dean opened the book and wrote: D.K. 8/9/54 10:35 am.

Krushnic stopped smiling and said, “You also seem to be in good spirits, Agent Winchester. Did you have a nice evening?”

Dean felt an itch of sorts as Krushnic asked his question. He controlled his hands though. He almost reached up to loosen his collar before he remembered why that would not be a good idea. It was too high, and it felt now like it was choking him. Dean leveled his gaze on Krushnic, and instead of responding to his question, asked, “How many interrogations have you conducted?”

The smile slipped from Krushnic’s face a little. Dean wrote in the notebook: i.e. f.e. u. Krushnic’s eyes fell onto the letters as Dean wrote them. He looked back up at Dean and didn’t speak until Dean was looking back at him. “I have not interrogated anyone.”

“Now you and I both know that’s not true. Try again.” Dean waited, looking steadily at Krushnic the whole time.

“I have not interrogated anyone.” This time his denial was softer, more like the words of someone who was afraid to admit the truth. His head dipped down a little. Dean noted the move in his notebook with initials. i.e. f.e. a.

Dean got up and walked to the other side of the table. “I need you to be straight with me. If we start off with lies, how do you think this will end?”

Krushnic looked up at Dean who now stood right next to him. They didn’t speak. They just stared at each other. It was odd. Dean knew that he should say something, or maybe deliver a bit of painful motivation, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. Krushnic for his part did not move or look away either. A minute passed, then two. Krushnic tipped his head to the side and raised a finger to point at Dean. “Tell me about your evening.” Dean followed the path that Krushnic was pointing toward.

Dean punched Krushnic solidly near the center of his chest. The blow sent him back with his chair into a heap on the floor. Dean moved back to his seat. Dean calmly sat down and wrote a note in the line beneath his last string of letters. _Krushnic refuses to answer questions adequately. The first of three acts of punishment have been initiated._ Dean looked down at his watch on his wrist and added the time. _10:43 am._

Krushnic got up from the floor slowly and in obvious pain. Dean had made sure not to strike him so hard as to break any bones, but he did hope that it was close. Krushnic was struggling for breath as he set the seat upright and settled back into it. He did not look at Dean. He focused on his hands, carefully folded in his lap. His dark hair was falling down onto his forehead, obscuring his eyes a little. Dean waited for a reaction. When none came, he repeated his question, “How many interrogations have you conducted?”

Krushnic did not speak. Henrickson came into the room. He had the tray of coffee and a paper plate with donuts. He noisily set them on the table and with a lop-sided grin stepped back out into the hall.

Dean made his cup of coffee. He watched Krushnic for a reaction to the food. The timing was a bit off. Dean figured he could stretch out the moment though. He took a drink from the mug after adding the cream and sugar. Krushnic sat still, eyes fixed on his lap. The donuts were from a place down the street. Eddie’s place had the best donuts he’d ever eaten. Henrickson went above and beyond by getting the donuts there. He must have picked them up before he came into the facility, because it would have taken him a good ten minutes to get there and back.

Dean broke one of the heavily glazed donuts in half and dipped the end of it into the coffee. He took a bite from the soggy end and suppressed a hum of delight. His stomach was empty and his head still drummed away with pain, but the little bite of donut made him feel like he had found paradise. He dipped another piece of the donut into the coffee and ate it. He continued doing this until the whole donut was consumed. There was another donut on the plate. Dean reached over and began the process again. Krushnic did not look up.

Dean dipped the donut piece and held it out to Krushnic. It was about to drip. Dean twisted it a bit and said, “Here, try this. It’s likely the best thing you’ll ever eat.”

Krushnic looked up at him then. His eyes were blue like wide Kansas skies. They seemed to be moments from tears. Dean wondered if it was from the pain of the blow or if it was another manipulation. Krushnic took the donut and ate it. His bites were slow and methodical in nature. “Why do you think that I conducted interrogations?”

Dean waited. He could move to the second of the punishments, but he thought that waiting would also serve its purpose. “I expect you to answer the question adequately, Mr. Krushnic,” Dean finally said after a full minute had passed.

“I was in the room with your brother and Uriel. I was not his interrogator. I have not been given that duty.” His eyes never left Dean’s. He watched Krushnic’s brow for the muscle twitch that would tell so much. There was none.

“You're not telling me everything, Mr. Krushnic.”

“Of course I'm not. I don't even know where to begin. I can be forthright, volunteer information before you even know to ask for it. I can be honest with you and take pain for it. I can sit here quietly and think too. If I do that long enough this will end, and nothing will be gained. I'll be sent back, and you'll get your brother.” He looked steadily at Dean through all of this. He swallowed and his brows came together. “I'm a keen observer. I see things others don't. I was brought in to observe Sam.”

Dean noted the words in his notebook word for word. Krushnic watched him. When he had finished writing, he wrote: f.e. n.t. He looked up when he finished, schooling his own expressions into complete seriousness. Krushnic was silent and very still. “Why would they need an observer?”

Krushnic let out a long held breath of air, as if Dean asking that question meant that he believed him. He seemed relieved. Dean noted it with initials. “I was a glorified secretary. I would take notes. My job was always to watch. I was tasked with seeing things that others would miss, a glance, a twitch of the muscles.” Krushnic glanced down at Dean’s notebook pointedly. Dean felt his own muscles stiffen. “Sam did not have any notable reactions. It was almost like he was removing some part of himself during the interrogations, like he could go blank. I was asked to look for anything that could be used to break him.” Krushnic paused a moment, looked down at his hands then back at Dean. “I never interrogated him or anyone. I just watch. It’s what I’ve done for years, in many capacities.”

Dean let the moment settle for a bit. He leaned back and picked up his mug of coffee. He focused on it. _Sam was strong. Sam was strong. Sam would be okay._ He remembered Uriel’s face as they began the transfer. He smiled like he knew that he had won something. Dean had wanted to punch him again, make him feel small. The tortures that Uriel had committed on so many agents, the things he had done, and they had returned him to the Ruskies. _No trade could be worth what he would unleash in vengeance. And now he has Sam._ “What were you doing in Berlin?”

The shift in topic was necessary for Dean. He needed to not think about Sam. The topic jump also jarred Krushnic a bit, kept him from feeling in control, or at least that was the intention. Dean could see the effect on Krushnic’s face. His brows came together a little. He looked off at the wall beyond Dean and then back again. “That is a long, very complicated story.”

“Well, I have all day, literally.” Dean took another swallow of coffee and then set the mug back down. He pushed his chair away from the table and brought his feet up onto it, crossing them at the ankles as he leaned back. This was a risky posture. If Krushnic attacked him, he would get injured. Dean did not worry about that much. _He wants me to believe him. He’s volunteering information._

“I don’t think that you are ready to hear it.” Krushnic brought his hands up to the table and folded them.

“Try me,” Dean said with a smirk.

“I was leaving East Berlin. I was given a simple field mission, a drop in the west. We do it all the time, a quick in and out.” He looked away from Dean off at the windows up high bathed in sunlight.

“Apparently it wasn’t so simple. Why’d you get caught?” Dean’s tone was brusque.

Krushnic looked back at him. “I was unhappy, had been for some time. Seeing your brother reminded me of what it was to be more than a tool for the cause. I had been groomed for this. I was taught to think this way. My mother and even my sister had taken up work for the great and noble cause.” He swallowed audibly before continuing. “Uriel left me in the room once, while he got the electro-shock equipment. It was part of the psychological interrogation. I was to observe Sam while he waited for Uriel’s return. Sam, though, watched me back. He also spoke. A month of efforts from Uriel, and Sam had said almost nothing. He spoke to me though.”

“What did he say?” Dean knew that he should redirect him back to the initial question, _What were you doing in Berlin,_ but this was Sam, and he had to know.

“He asked after my well-being. He asked how I was doing.” Krushnic unfolded his hands and ran them up his face and back into his hair. “I didn’t expect that. I don’t know why he even asked it. Maybe he craved distraction, a few words that were civil and not part of any real importance, yet there I was feeling like his question was the most important one I would ever be asked. He was reminding me to be humane, to not separate myself from who I really was.” Krushnic sucked in another deep audible breath and seemed to hold it. He looked steadily at Dean and said, “How are you doing?”

“Are you asking me or repeating Sam?”

“Both. He asked me, because he didn’t see me as the enemy. We knew each other. He was not my enemy. He was a man, tortured and meaningful. He was not a pawn in a rather complicated game. He was not a potential solution to all of our geopolitical problems. He knew nothing that would change things, and even if he did, it would hardly matter. The world would keep spinning with or without his knowledge being shared. People would live or die on either side with or without Sam Winchester’s breaking. In the end, what mattered was that I saw him as a slice of humanity. In the midst of causes we all sometimes forget the things that matter most, and some of us lose our humanity. Though I knew him before he was brought to the interrogations, he had been merely a man that I had worked with only two or three times. I had nearly convinced myself that I could just keep living as I had been, doing as I had been, at least for a little longer. His question broke me.”

Dean did not write in the notebook. He knew he would remember all of it. The words were likely a manipulation. He could see the parallels that Krushnic wanted him to draw. Dean let himself go along with it. “What answer did you give to him?”

“At first I didn’t answer. I almost said ‘fine’ but held back. I felt, in that moment, that the question warranted a real answer. To say fine was to toss aside the question, to say it didn’t matter, to treat him like no more than an enemy. In that moment, I knew that I couldn’t say _fine_.”

“So what did you say then?” Dean did not let his impatience show in his tone, but he felt it.

“I’m sorry.”

“What?” Dean lowered his legs back down to the floor and sat up straight.

“I said to him that I was sorry. He smiled at me and said that he didn’t hold it against me. I asked him how he was doing, and he joked. He said he’d been better. I asked him if he felt like he would survive this. He looked like I had driven a knife into him with the question. He said no, that he wouldn’t. Then he asked me to distract him. He didn’t want to think about where all of this was going.”

“None of this sounds like Sam, sorry.” Dean was already gathering up his notebook and setting his mug back onto the tray when Krushnic spoke again.

Krushnic seemed to jump over a whole swath of narrative when he said, “Sam said that you wouldn’t believe me if I just came out and said it all. He said that I would have to make you see it. He said that you don’t always see things the way others do. You carry things, guilt, pain, the crushing sense that you could be the one to make the most grievous of mistakes. He said that I would have to tell it all to you in a way that would make you see it. He wanted to help me. In the midst of all of his suffering, Sam Winchester was trying to help me.” Krushnic’s voice seemed to take on a different tone. It was one of distress and maybe even a little desperation.

“Sure, buddy.” Dean tucked his notebook back into his pocket along with the pen. “Why would he even think you would try to find me or even be able to do so? Makes literally no sense.”

Krushnic’s voice rose in desperation as Dean got up for the door. “He told me that if I got to you, that I would need to tell you something that only the two of you know. I would have to convince you.” Dean took two steps to the door with the tray in hand. He was done. The interrogation was failing. He would need to send in Henrickson to complete the more unpleasant parts while he got his head back on straight. As he was about to leave the room, Krushnic said one more thing. “Poughkeepsie.”

Dean stopped. He didn’t turn back to Krushnic right away. This was their word, his and Sam’s. It was the code that they had between them that meant drop everything and run. _Why would Sam want him to hear this. Why would Sam say this to Krushnic?_ Then he thought about what they must have done to break Sam to this point. _What must they have done to him to get him to say this?_ Dean felt anger curling up in his stomach. He pushed it down and turned to Krushnic. The look on Krushnic’s face was still desperate. “What did you say?” Dean knew what he said, and yet he waited.

Krushnic didn’t repeat the word. He seemed to know that Dean had heard it. Instead he asked again, “How are you doing, Dean?”

Dean waited a beat, then said, “Fine,” before leaving the cell.

* * *

 

He stormed over to Bobby’s office. It was clear on the other side of the building, but it took him no time to get there. He felt as though he would shake free of his skin. The air around him seemed to be fogging over. He marched right past Miss K. She started to say something, enquire after his well being or something. He didn’t respond, couldn’t respond. He gripped Bobby’s door and went right in.

Bobby wasn’t alone. He had a whole contingent of agents and higher ups in his office. Miss K stood at Dean’s back as he was frozen in the doorway. “Sorry, Mr. Singer. I tried to tell him that you were in a meeting.”

Bobby looked from the men to Dean and back again. Dean started to mumble out an apology. Bobby interrupted him. “You men have met Agent Winchester, correct?”

A man about Bobby’s age got up and stepped over to Dean. “I can’t say that I have. Names Gordon, Gordon Walker. I’m currently ‘Florida Bobby.’ He’s told me a lot about you and your brother. So sorry to hear about the recent troubles.” He looked sincere despite the rough tone of his voice. Dean shook his hand and committed more fully to the room. Miss K stepped back out, closing the door behind Dean.

“Thanks,” he said to Gordon, almost as an afterthought. “Look, I’m sorry for interrupting. I didn’t even remember that you had a meeting today.” Dean’s eyes swept over the other faces. There was a young agent that was grinning ear to ear the entire time. He was scrawny and not likely a field agent. Next to him was an older, bulldog faced man. He was definitely not a field agent. Dean assumed that he was one of the higher ups, checking in.

“You might as well join us Agent Winchester. You can tell them what you’ve learned from our prisoner.” Bobby motioned to an empty chair and Dean took a seat.

The older, bulldog faced man said, “I still view his involvement in the interrogation as problematic. I don’t see why you can’t put someone else on it. Having an interrogator who may be emotionally compromised, seems like a recipe for disaster.”

Dean was about to respond with a display of unprofessionalism when, once again, Bobby interrupted, “Now Frank, we’ve talked about this. Dean is the best there is. Why would I put someone inferior on our most important interrogation. Dean is a professional. Sam Winchester’s capture, in no way will influence his ability to get information from Krushnic.” He turned his attention to the scrawny guy then, “So Garth, how long do you reckon we have left with our guest?”

Garth said, “I got word that they will make a hand off in six weeks. I tried to get it down to something lower, but I think that they are feeling like they can break him in that time. I’ve got a guy that might be able to slip a word to him, let him know that we are gonna get him out soon. You know, to give him hope.” Garth finished and locked eyes with Dean.

Dean asked, “So you’ve been the one heading up negotiations for my brother?”

“I have, and it’s an honor to be trusted with the responsibility of rescuing Sam Winchester. He’s a hero, a real hero.” Garth seemed like he was about to go on.

Bobby interrupted again, “Sam rescued Garth and his family when things went south in Poland two years ago.”

“Oh, he told me a bit about that.” Dean leaned over the table that was between them and shook his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Garth shook back all smiles again. “Your family okay now?”

His smile fell a little. “Yeah. It took some time. My wife stays home now. No more field work for her. I got right back in though. It’s been good to feel like I’m doing something to help.”

Bobby moved the conversation away from them to other things that they were discussing before Dean entered the room. Dean started to tune it out. He replayed the interrogation with Krushnic in his head. He tried to reason out what his game was, why he was doing what he was doing. It was unlike any interrogation he had had before, but he knew when he was being played, and this was feeling like a con of epic proportions.

The meeting ended with Dean sharing a few pieces of information about Krushnic, nothing impressive. Bobby cleared everyone out and then came back to his seat across from Dean. “So you mind telling me what’s eating you up?”

“I think maybe they might be right. I think maybe I am too emotionally compromised to do this interrogation.”

Bobby got up and moved closer, resting a hand on Dean’s knee as he sat back down. “Talk to me kiddo.” He pulled his hand back and leaned into his chair. Since Dean’s father had died, Bobby had become more than his boss. He had become an almost surrogate father to him and to Sam. He had kind of adopted that role even before. There had been enough times when they were growing up that John just couldn’t cope with the demands of fatherhood. He’d take a case and leave him and Sam with Bobby for however long it took. When Dean went off to war all those years ago, he had worried that his father might up and leave Sam then too. Bobby had assured him even then that he would keep an eye on the boy.

Dean brushed his hand back through his hair and then folded his hands in front of him. He leaned over a little bracing himself on his thighs. He opted to tell Bobby all that he had learned from Krushnic, ending with,  “Uriel is using electro-shock equipment on Sam.”

“Oh.” Bobby’s one word spoke volumes in it’s tone. “And we’re sure that Krushnic is telling the truth?” That was the kicker. He wasn’t sure, not of this or anything.

“I’m off my game, Bobby. I don’t know. I mean, he sounds honest. He isn’t giving me any of the usual signs, but he said he knew Sam. I didn’t give him a chance to elaborate, but he said he knew him. Wouldn’t Sam have said something?”

“His face is honest?”

“Yeah, I mean, he had some tells, but not where Sam was concerned. He knew one of our codes, Bobby.”

Bobby’s face grew more concerned, his brows coming together. “What one?”

“Poughkeepsie.” Dean practically breathed out the word.

“Why?” Bobby broke down the complexity of the moment into that one question. _Why would Sam share that one? Why would Krushnic share it? Who needs to be running right now and from what? Or was it just that Krushnic knew the word._ In the end it was all best summed up with _why._

“I don’t know.” And that was the only way to sum up the answer and all that they would wonder over. Dean felt like he was moments from breaking.

“Go home, Dean. Sleep on it. Better yet, take a few days off. Let the bastard stew a bit.” Bobby gave his knee a little pat.

“Progress will be lost if we don’t continue, and we only have six weeks.” He didn’t think about how long six weeks could really be. It was better to think about it as passing swiftly. The thought of all that could be done to Sam in that time, sent a fresh rumble of shaking through his body.

“Go home, son. I’ll put Henrickson on it for a few days. He can be bad cop this time around.” Bobby watched his face and Dean felt like protesting.

“He’s too much sometimes.”

“Yeah, but he can handle this. Let’s let him. It’s only a couple of days while you recharge.” Bobby got up and the act ended the meeting.

“I’ll send over my report later tonight.” Dean moved to the door.

“I haven’t read the last one yet. You forget that I can just listen to the audio that you have running into the recording room. I mean, what’s the use of having your technical expertise, if I don’t use it?”

Dean had set up a system in the interrogation room that allowed for the recording of the sessions. The devices were small, and as yet had not been detected by any of the detainees. They were easily moved to each new center too. He was proud of the work. “I’d still like to give you the report. There’s always something that the audio alone won’t tell you.”

“Tomorrow will be fine. I’ll read it over coffee and then brief Henrickson.” With a casual wave he added, “Rest up. See you in three days.”

Dean went out the door, tossed a casual smile to Miss K, who looked concerned, and stalked off to his home. Rest was far from his mind. He needed information, and a few days might be just what he needed to get it.

* * *

 

Dean had gotten to know the city well in the short time that he had been back. He had lived there before when he and Sam had been young, but that was long ago. Much had changed since then. He spent many of his evenings strolling through the neighborhoods that were near his own, getting a scope of the land.

The walk he was currently on looked a lot like those other walks. His eyes roamed over the buildings and the alleys that he passed. He noted faces in the gathered groups that lingered on stairways and on the sidewalks. The world was busy. People were getting off work and heading home or out to restaurants and bars.

Dean had a destination in mind.  There was a diner a few blocks up where he would be meeting his contact, MacLeod. He had half-hoped that when he had called that there would be no answer. Instead it was two rings and answered. MacLeod’s accent growling out over the line like he was angry at anyone that would dare to call him. Once Dean had identified himself, MacLeod’s voice changed. It was charm and smarm, and Dean was over it before MacLeod had even finished a sentence.

They had met at the diner before, when Dean had first come to the city. They had met years before when Dean had begrudgingly used him for a job in Germany. Dean got what he needed, but in the end it felt dirty somehow, like MacLeod was always just seconds from stabbing him in the back or betraying the nation with some act of high treason.

MacLeod was an American, sort of. He was also a half Scot half Brit who had found himself in Germany at the worst possible time. He had dabbled in espionage and with his charm had managed to obtain a great many German secrets prior to the end of the war. He wasn’t loyal though, unless one counted self-interest as loyalty. He never worked officially for any U.S. agency, but unofficially, he did plenty for the government. He was ruthless and sometimes without a shred of morals. Other times, Dean thought that he cared a great deal. Despite their long-standing connection, Dean often came away from jobs with MacLeod, feeling more regret than satisfaction.

There were other reasons that Dean felt tension around MacLeod too. He lacked discretion. He never seemed like he cared one lick who saw them talking or what others could guess from words spoken too loudly. MacLeod seemed to assume that most couldn’t get past his accent, and that if they did understand him, they’d write off whatever they thought he had said as the rantings of a foreigner.

They had an understanding though, so when Dean needed information, he knew that MacLeod would be the man to get what he needed. He saw him in the diner before he entered. Dean took a moment to really look at the scene before him. MacLeod sat in a booth, toying with a paper umbrella stabbed through a maraschino cherry. Despite himself, Dean felt his lip curl up into a grin. _Always with the frilly drinks._ He pulled the door open and entered the warm space.

MacLeod saw him, and his own mouth widened into a grin that he immediately schooled down into neutrality. Dean slipped into the booth across from him and a waitress came to their table right after. “What can I get you to drink?” she asked as she slid a menu his way.

“I’ll take a Coke and maybe a cheeseburger.” Dean pushed the menu back to her without opening it.

The waitress looked at MacLeod and asked, “You want to order your food now too?”

“I’ll have the same. Thanks.” MacLeod slid his own menu back, and the waitress went off. They waited until she returned with Dean’s drink before talking. Dean took a sip then said, “So how’s life treating you, MacLeod?”

“Really, Dean? Are we buddies now? What’d you call me out here for?” MacLeod pulled the umbrella out of his drink and sucked the cherry off of it. Dean looked away. “Unless maybe you are here for something. Fancy a little trip down memory lane?” MacLeod’s voice rose in pitch a little, and the lascivious tone brought Dean into a kind of angry focus.

“Guess you haven’t changed much.” Dean took another sip off his straw. “I’m wondering if you still have your Berlin connections?”

The shift didn’t jar MacLeod. He seemed to move into the new topic with ease. “I keep all my friends close. Is this about the unfortunate business with your brother?” He didn’t sound like he was sincerely concerned, but Dean brushed off the irritation.

“It is, somewhat. How’d you hear?”

“I make it my business to keep track of the people that I associate with.”

Dean drummed at the table and stared at MacLeod for a moment, reading him. Sometimes he was difficult. Dean wondered if this would end up being one of those days. “How much will this cost me, MacLeod?”

“You haven’t even told me what you want yet.” He leaned back into the bench seat a little more and smiled. Dean noted the crispness of his suit. It made him stand out in a place like this. Dean was still wearing the high collared suit and felt suddenly conscious of his fashion sense being scrutinized when MacLeod reached out and tapped the edge of his sleeve. “Where’d you dig up this old number?”

“Laundry day.” Dean tried to blow him off.

“Hmm, if you say so. Sometimes I lament the loss of the high collars.” MacLeod grinned knowingly.

Dean redirected again, “I need to know if your Berlin contact can get me some info. on a man that I currently have in custody.”

“Got a name for the chap?” MacLeod asked. The waitress came back to the table at this moment with two heaping plates of burgers and fries.

“His name is Dmitri Krushnic.” MacLeod’s face gave a tell. Dean noted it.

“What can you tell me about him?” MacLeod picked up a fry with an air of nonchalance and ate it.

“I think the better question is, what can _you_ tell me? You know him.” The last wasn’t a question, and Dean didn’t have time for finessing this conversation.

“He and I have met, yes.” MacLeod decided at that moment that he needed to dive into his burger. Dean waited him out, popping a fry into his own mouth while he waited. MacLeod eventually set down his burger and snatched a paper napkin from the dispenser. He dabbed at the edges of his mouth a little. “What do you want to know?”

“I want to know what his role is? What did he do before we captured him?”

“Oh, so you really don’t know anything about him then? Do you lot make it a habit to just arrest anyone with an accent?” He lifted his arms across the table as though they were in cuffs. “By that standard, arrest me officer Winchester. I might enjoy it though.” He gave Dean a wink as Dean slapped his arms aside.

“I don’t know why I keep thinking that you are useful.”

“You think it because I am. I also know Krushnic better than you, and I assume that you have already started your interrogation.” Dean face likely gave MacLeod all the information he needed, as he continued with, “So you aren’t as skilled as you once were huh?”

“Tell me what you know.” Dean was too proud to beg, but not too proud to let a cool growl of menace creep out from clenched teeth.

“What’s in it for me?” His lip curled up into a smirk. “Should I name my price here or elsewhere?”

“There will be no _elsewhere_.” Dean leveled his gaze solidly on MacLeod and added, “Name your price.”

“Might be better the other way, but suit yourself. Two large and a favor.” Dean had to process that for a minute.

“Did I hear you right? Two large _and_ a favor.” Dean started to push himself out of the booth pulling out his wallet to toss down his share of the cost.

MacLeod reached across the table again and stopped Dean’s progress. “Like I said, might be easier to talk about this elsewhere, maybe make a better deal for both of us.”

Dean hesitated, pulled his arm away from MacLeod and said, “Not gonna happen.”

“Thought you were rather devoted to that brother of yours. Guess that was just idle gossip.” MacLeod leaned back into his seat like he was all relaxed, just waiting for the day to pass.

“You sonofabitch.” Dean got up then with his plate of food and walked up to the counter to get it wrapped up. He paid his bill and came back to the table. “I’m gonna need a day to get the money together. I don’t have that kind of cash laying around.”

“Oh, here I was thinking that you were rethinking along other lines.”

“Seriously, not gonna happen.” Dean moved to the side while MacLeod got out of the booth seat. MacLeod tossed some cash on the table and began walking to the door. Dean followed. “So can you give me some information now, before I get the cash?”

MacLeod laughed a little as they moved out to the street. “Just a little taste, huh?” He laughed again. “Well, I can tell you that he’s not what you probably think he is.”

“What do I think he is?”

“An actual agent or something along those lines.” He seemed to wait to see if he had read Dean right. “Yeah, you’re wrong. He’s something else entirely. I worked with him some time ago back when my loyalties were a little more questionable.” Dean looked at him like he doubted every loyalty that MacLeod claimed beyond himself. “Now it’s just God bless the U.S. of A.”

“So you worked with him?”

“Yes. I helped him with the movement of some precious souls from mother Russia.”

“ _From_ the Eastern Block?”

“Not exactly, but close. You must be getting old. I feel like you're not following the subtleties of this conversation.” Dean scowled at him and he laughed. He continued, “There were some people that he wanted to have moved out of Russia. I helped facilitate that.” MacLeod was walking rather closely. Dean felt the brush of his arm against his with each step.

“Why would he want to move someone out of Russia? It doesn’t make sense.”

“It might if you stop assuming that he is a good soldier, loyal to mother Russia.” MacLeod laughed at him again and added, “Really Dean, do try to keep up.”

“You’re saying that he was a traitor then, and that he was trying to help people escape?” Dean was not quite ready to accept it, but it was lining up with some of what Krushnic was saying during interrogation. It also might be a connection to Sam. He pushed that onto the back burner though.

“Possibly.” MacLeod stepped off the curb to cross away from Dean to the other side. “So you get me the two large and I’ll fill in the rest of the gaps. Call me when you get it together.”

Dean stopped his forward progress and pressed his hands into his pockets. He felt the bite of his nails into the insides of his palms. He hated this. He couldn’t even be sure that what MacLeod had to tell was worth a dime, let alone two thousand dollars. He had the money set aside, an inheritance from when his father had passed. He had hopes and plans tied up with that money. He brushed that aside though. “I’ll call you tonight.”

MacLeod gave him a final quick wave and was absorbed into the crowd on the other side of the street. Dean considered his options. There wasn’t much else to be done. He pushed himself forward to home and toward the decisions that he had already made.

* * *

 

By evening, he was regretting some of his choices. The money MacLeod had asked for seemed extravagant now that it was out of the bank and in his possession. He didn’t want to call MacLeod right away either. Somehow, he thought that making him wait would be the best thing. He also considered talking him down a little. _It’s a lot of money._ He wondered why MacLeod thought that this amount would be possible. He had never asked for so much before. _Perhaps the information on Krushnic would be complicated._

Dean set the money on the kitchen table and laid down on his bed. He hadn’t put it back up that morning and the sheets were still a mess. He closed his eyes and he saw Krushnic, a mess of brown hair and the beginnings of a smile. He could hear him too, _Hello, Dean._ The accent made his name sound rich and also revered as Krushnic spoke it.

 _So what was he doing when we shot him?_ Dean had assumed a great many things. If Krushnic had been a good soldier, a true and loyal servant of Mother Russia, then perhaps this was all a carefully plotted manipulation, a long con. Dean let the thought swim around in his head before opening his eyes to stare up at the water stained ceiling. _No,_ he thought. _Sometimes the truth is obvious._

Dean closed his eyes again and let the interrogations fill his mind once more. He wondered about the code word again. Krushnic said it with a quiet desperation. It was as though he truly needed Dean to believe him. Part of Dean wanted to believe him too. He wanted to stop seeing the world as one giant corrupt mess. His daily interactions with the seedy underbelly of life were tainting his mind. The job too was getting to him. It was filling him with an undercurrent of rage. It was getting so he could hardly shake it off without a bit more to drink each night.

He thought of the tells that Krushnic gave. He focused on them, the way his face fell when he had been asked about Berlin. Dean had sipped the coffee and Krushnic had watched him. Dean thought about this. He had attributed the change of Krushnic’s expression to the topic that they were discussing.

Krushnic’s eyes followed his motions. He was a close observer, much as Dean was. Krushnic’s eyes had an intensity to them, a kind of depth that made Dean lose his own focus a little during the interrogation. He wondered about that a little. _If this was a con, how did they know what would get to him?_ Krushnic was attractive. He was fit in a way that came from effort. His arms were corded muscles and his legs seemed to be powerful in that way that came from running or weight lifting. He didn’t have the broad shoulders of a weightlifter though. He also seemed to showcase confidence in fleeting moments.

Dean ran a hand back up into his hair and sucked in a deep lungful of air. _How could they know?_ He wondered again, because if the answer was that they didn’t know, then he could assume that Krushnic was maybe not a loyal Russian. _If he did know though, if he did, then…_ Dean shook a little with the thought. He was careful when he went out to places like Seer’s. He was careful when he casually met up with people. They were all careful. They had to be. The only one that he knew that wasn’t careful was MacLeod, and yet no one seemed to be too concerned about him.

MacLeod. Now there was a person to worry about. Dean wondered if perhaps assumptions had been made about him due to his affiliation with MacLeod. He reached up to his collar and loosened it a bit, then took off the tie he was wearing entirely. _Can’t wear this suit anymore. Gonna have to just deal with this._ Dean got up and stalked to the bathroom. He took off his suit and eventually stood naked in front of the mirror. His neck craned to the side, he noted that he was still sporting the tell-tale signs of his activities.

No one would question it, or at least they wouldn’t assume that it was a present from anyone but a female. He had a reputation with the agents. He was often seen with some gorgeous woman draped on his arm. Usually they were other field agents. He met up with women while on cases too, though, and word of those conquests often circulated and became exaggerated. _If they only knew. Glad they don’t._

He thought about the time off that Bobby gave to him. _They’ll think that the time had been used to its fullest._ He wrapped a towel around his waist. He gathered up the suit and carried it back out to his closet. He gave the clock on the wall a cursory glance. It was early evening. He sat at his table a little cold in just his towel and started eating the lunch that he had carried home from his meeting with MacLeod.

He’d give the evening two more hours before he called MacLeod. He considered the other options that MacLeod hinted at. He wasn’t so prudish as to not consider sex a viable trade in this scenario. It wouldn’t be much, nothing he hadn’t done before, but really it would be. It was his dignity. MacLeod would hold it over him for the rest of his life. He already seemed to bring up the past with a bit too much frequency for Dean’s taste. He liked having less strings attached to his sex life.

 _Poughkeepsie._ Dean played out the thought. Sam told that word to Krushnic. There was literally no other way that he could have known it. The word and its meaning were only known by him, Sam and Bobby. Sam had been knee-deep in something while he was in Berlin. It was supposed to be a quick job, and something went wrong. Dean was going to join him. One of the last times that they had spoken, Sam talked about how something had been stuck to his shoe. Dean knew that this meant that someone was trailing Sam. “Well, lose the shoe then,” he had advised. Later he had called again telling Dean that he had lost his shoe. Dean had felt a little relieved.

The job had to do with a potential string of assassinations that they had caught wind of. The intelligence that they had gathered pinpointed five key individuals. All of the individuals were agents or in the case of one man, a senator. Why he made the list was still to be determined. The others made sense. They had been instrumental in the acquisition of information from within Russia and the Eastern Block. Eliminating these men meant that the Russian secrets would be safer for longer.

Sam had figured out three of the five individuals, and those attacks had been averted, for now. He had been getting close to uncovering the fourth individual, when he picked up the follower. He had a source that he had not shared with Dean that was feeding him useful bits. All of the information that he was sending home came from this one source. The information was given to Sam in code. It was smuggled out of Berlin on small rolled up pieces of paper. Sam had sent them back for the code breakers. Sometimes, though, Sam would just decode them himself. It was a skill that Dean and most of the others in the department envied greatly.

Dean had worried about his brother after their last phone call. They couldn’t really talk, not about anything of import. It was too likely that the calls could be intercepted. Sam was due to head into Berlin himself. It was a risky move. He was confident though. There was a bar where information was often traded for a price. He thought that he could get information on the last two marks from there. His other source had run dry on intel by this point, or so he had said. Dean had had his doubts. Sam was being cagey with details, like he knew more than he could say even in their coded way.

Turned out that the bar had been a mistake. It was also possible that the informant was part of a long con designed to get Sam into a vulnerable place. Word came back that Sam had not returned at the arranged time. The second field agent assigned to work with Sam investigated what had happened and sent word back to Bobby.

It took all Bobby was worth to keep Dean from boarding the next plane to Germany. Bobby’s calm reasoning won him over though. He assured him that getting Sam back would be their top priority. Not long after, they captured Krushnic and flew him to the facility. His capture gave them a workable timeline for Sam’s captivity and inevitable release. These things could last a long time if you have nothing to offer up in trade. It had worried Dean a great deal that they had nothing to offer when Sam was captured. He worried about how much Sam would have to endure. Krushnic, though, seemed like a hot commodity. The Russian negotiator got back to them immediately with some preliminary offerings. Dean was temporarily pacified.

Now though, the negotiations were taking a turn toward the unpredictable. His last job before Krushnic, Uriel, had been difficult too, but at least it was predictable. _I’m losing my touch,_ he thought. Uriel had been different from others. He had taunted Dean during questioning. He had also attacked and fought Dean at every opportunity. Getting usable information out of him took longer than normal, and in the end, Dean was left wondering if it had been worth it. Dean was really wondering this now as he considered that Uriel may have taught Krushnic how to deal with Dean’s brand of interrogation.

He felt anxious as he sat at the table. He glanced over at the clock near the stove. The second hand was one of those noisy kinds that can drive a silent room to madness. Dean watched time pass for a bit then thought, _No sense in waiting. Might as well call him and get it over with._ He got up from the table and made short work of getting dressed. He slipped all but five hundred dollars into one large pocket and the rest of the money went into a separate pocket. His hand hovered over the phone for a moment and then he committed to making the call.

* * *

 

They met this time at MacLeod’s place. It was a large home on the edge of town. It was not ostentatious, but the place had been used for some rather impressive parties. MacLeod liked to host gatherings. It was in this way that he had gotten some information in the past that was rather useful. People speak freely when they drink, and MacLeod knew how to ply them with just enough to get tongues wagging. He also seemed to have dirt on a vast array of local celebrities and politicians. He was powerful without giving off too much of an air of it.

When Dean arrived he was given a slow evaluative look over that ran from his shoes to his collar. “Better suit,” was the only comment that MacLeod offered up to justify the prolonged staring. He moved down a hall to what Dean thought would be his office. He had met with him in the office before.

Instead, MacLeod turned a corner and made his way to a new door. He opened it and beckoned Dean in. “We’re not going to your office?”

“No, I wanted to be more comfortable. Plus this is not exactly business.” MacLeod walked to a low red couch set off by a high window. They settled in on either end of the couch and MacLeod reached back to a table on his left to retrieve a decanter of amber liquor. “Whiskey? If I remember right, this is your drink of choice.”

“Thanks,” Dean replied with a nod. “So, really why this room?”

“Like I said before, this isn’t exactly business is it?” He handed Dean the whiskey. Dean took it and gave it a little sniff before drinking down a mouthful.

“My bank account is significantly diminished today, so I’m pretty sure that this is business.”

“Doesn’t have to be.” MacLeod moved minutely closer.

“It really does.” Dean looked at him in a way that was calm, yet there was enough of menace in the look that MacLeod ceased moving closer. He tried to lighten the tone by adding, “Speaking of…” He shifted about as if he was nervous. He wasn’t. “Would you consider $1,500?”

MacLeod’s grin ticked into place. He moved closer again. “They aren’t paying you nearly what you’re worth.” He put his arm on the back of the couch, hand hanging on the edge near Dean’s shoulder.

“They pay me plenty, but $2,000 is not a small sum.” Dean glanced around the room. “You hardly need it. You’re a rich man MacLeod, and I thought that with our history…”

MacLeod interrupted him. “Our history? Really, you plan to play that card?”

“Seemed reasonable at the time.” Dean grinned back at him. A little charm never hurt. “I know you can’t blame me.”

“I can,” but MacLeod was smiling through the statement. “I gave you other options. I’m also not one to beg, so if you want a deal, you’ll consider them. If not, $2,000 and a future favor.”

“I only brought $1,500. I was really banking on my considerable charm.” Dean said the last with an air of condescension.

MacLeod laughed at him. “If you were anyone else, Dean Winchester, I’d throw you out on your ass on principle. As it is, you entertain me. I like our little interactions. And to be honest with you, it’s worth five hundred just to have these little moments of banter.” He paused a moment to consider his next statement. “Fine, $1,500 and the favor which might now be a little more than it would have been before.” He held out his hand for the money.

Dean pulled out the larger sum from his pocket and gave it to him. “What kind of favor are we talking?”

“Hmm, wouldn’t you like to know. Let’s just say I might need your company when I go to Poland next fall. You will provide distraction and such.” He let his eyes sweep over Dean again and he added, “You do have some vacation time saved up right?”

“This sounds like the same deal as before. I think I made it clear that I won’t be going down that path.”

“I’m not asking for anything untoward. I need to not be alone when I go to Poland. You will, how shall I put it, have my back, so to speak.”

“There are some things I can’t do. I’m an agent first.”

“There are plenty of things that you can do though, and I intend to utilize you to your fullest potential. Besides, we don’t need to think about this now. We have months.” He refilled Dean’s glass and then his own. “Let’s talk about Krushnic.”

“I would like to know more about his loyalties. You seemed to imply that he is not a loyal soldier.”

MacLeod chuckled a little and sipped from his glass. “That is true. He was looking for an escape, but he had to see to his sister and mother first.”

“Were they the ones that you helped?” Dean rested the glass on the edge of his knee.

“Yes. I had to forge papers for them, and even that wasn’t quite enough. I inevitably got them out through a rather upsetting trade. I don’t feel as though I came out ahead in this one, but they are safe now, and I was paid.”

“He’s an interrogator though, right? I mean, why would he want to help people escape?”

“Oh, you’ve assumed wrong about him. Dmitri is not the one that questions. In fact he just listens.”

“He claimed that, but I didn’t believe him.”

  
“Well now Dean, there’s your problem, always doubting.” MacLeod took another swallow of his drink. “He reads people. He pegged me for what I was at a glance.”

“That’s not impressive. You wear it like a badge of honor.” Dean laughed at the mock look of offense that MacLeod donned.

“I’ll have you know that O’Hare called me Manhattan’s most eligible bachelor. She wrote a whole story for the _Times_ about it.”

“About you? Really? Must have missed it.” Dean smirked.

“Well, not only on me. I was just mentioned. Now, back to Krushnic. He reads people. He sees what they are, what they hide. He feeds the information back to the interrogators and his bosses. Guess he saw enough and wanted to fall out of that line of work. He couldn’t though. I mean, it’s not like one can just say I quit over there. So he did the next best thing. He started passing secrets to you lot. He gave up some things to your brother, useful things.” He was watching Dean’s face for a reaction.

“The ones slated for assassination.” Dean wanted to say it like a question, but he didn’t want to sound like he knew literally nothing about Sam’s contact.

“Yes. Well, he was hoping to get help from Sam with the whole secret immigration thing. Sam was willing. I spoke with him when I was over there.”

“Sam talked with you about this? He didn’t mention it.” Dean was feeling doubt rising up.

“He did. Seems he and I were Dmitri’s biggest allies. It cost Sam though. I feel some regret concerning his capture. He was moving information that I had a hand in.”

Dean was filling in the gaps before MacLeod could finish. “You sonofabitch.” He got up and threw the glass across the room. “You bastard. You sent him into that bar. I couldn’t suss out why he thought that he’d get information on the assassinations from there, but now I get it. He was only there for your mission.”

“He never could resist helping someone in need.” MacLeod’s voice had a slight tremor. Dean loomed over him, ready to beat him. MacLeod’s hand dropped to his pocket. “You should sit. I’d hate to have to shoot you. Plus, you know that I have knowledge that you won’t get elsewhere.”

“Make it quick.” Dean sat again.

“I didn’t think for a minute that he’d get caught. Your brother is good. I assumed that he’d be in and out. Easy as anything. They were watching him though. They inevitably caught him on the train. You know of course that your lot isn’t allowed on the train. They started trailing your brother, and would’ve found out about Dmitri. Your brother protected him though. After your brother was captured, Dmitri made arrangements to meet with me. He wanted to get out of the GDR. I helped him. Turned out though, that he didn’t just want to get out like I thought.”

“What do you mean he didn’t just want to get out?” Dean interrupted.

“He wanted to get caught. He had asked me where your agents were stationed. I didn’t think much of the question at the time, given that he had been working with Sam. Figured he wanted to establish a new contact now that Sam was out of commission. Turned out that he wanted to know what path would make him most vulnerable to you lot. He wanted to get caught. And you all certainly caught him. Shot him, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Seems a little hard to believe. Why would he want to get caught?” Dean rolled his eyes.

“I’m sure he’s not telling you everything. He can’t. This is his way of helping Sam. I’m guessing that he knew that you all had nothing to trade. So that would mean that Sam would never get out. How long could your brother hold out, really? One month, two? Could he hold onto his sanity for six months under the most brutal interrogations?” MacLeod’s face fell a little. “Even Sam’s not strong enough for what they’ll do to him, and Krushnic knows that. So he did the one thing he could think of to save your brother. He got himself caught.”

Dean interrupted, “You think he got caught for Sam?”

“Yeah, and he intends to tell you nothing much about it. He knows he’ll be back home. Probably thinks they’ll put him back to work. Probably hopes they won’t realize that he had gotten caught on purpose, but really, it’s bloody obvious. Part of me thinks he knows that all too well and is just hoping only a little. They’ll make him pay for what they already think he’s done. It’s likely why he asked for the other type of help from me.”

“What other type of help?”

“I supplied him with a cyanide tablet. It is an easily hidden one. He likely has it on him right now, and you’ll never find it.”

Dean let the information sit for a moment. “He doesn’t have that on him. We checked thoroughly.” MacLeod just shrugged. Dean went down another path. “So is he trustworthy?”

MacLeod took a final drink from his glass. “As much as any of you lot can be trusted. I mean, everything about you is a lie. Same with him.”

Dean thought about that a moment and then about all that Krushnic had said. If he had been working with Sam, Dean was certain that Sam would have done nothing that would have put his life at risk. It was just the kind of guy Sam was. “Why would Sam tell him anything?”

MacLeod’s eyebrow raised in question. “What did Sam tell him?”

“Nothing.” Dean waved a hand between them to brush it aside.

“Your man Krushnic should not be the one that you trade. He knows a lot. You should keep him.”

“We don’t have an alternative. It’s either him or Sammy. We haven’t exactly been scooping up random KGB operatives lately.”

“Well, you should try to find one, and send them a new trade offer. I can’t imagine that he’ll live long after returning home.”

“I can’t worry about that. I can only worry about Sam and learning what I can from Krushnic before we send him back.”

MacLeod looked a little sad, which was an odd look for him. “Guess you’ll have to live with that.” He got up and set his glass aside. “It’s late. If you have more questions, maybe we can pick this conversation up later.”

Dean nodded his acceptance. “Sure. This is gonna take me a while to process anyway.”

MacLeod directed him out. They parted with a handshake. “Take care of yourself, Dean.”

“Yeah.” Dean moved off down the stairs, his mind too full of information. He couldn’t even imagine what he would need to do next.

* * *

 

It had been two days, and although Bobby had told him to take three, he was determined to go back into the facility. He decided to see Bobby first before heading off to Krushnic. Miss K was there, bathed in soft white morning light that trailed in from the window behind her. It made her look almost angelic. “He’s not here, Agent Winchester.”

He stopped moving toward the door and turned back to her. “Oh, we aren’t on a first name basis anymore?”  


“Sorry, Dean. I was distracted.” He noticed then that she really did seem unsettled.

“What happened?” He moved to her side of the desk. He gave her shoulder a squeeze.

“It’s nothing. I should be made of sterner stuff.” She sniffled a little.

Dean came down onto his haunches and stared at her. “Talk to me K.”

She looked at him past lashes that fluttered a little and seemed to consider laughing him off. Her mouth even curled up into a half smile. Dean could almost hear her throwing out a joke, a flirtation. But then she said, “Bobby’s been gone since yesterday. Garth was going to be getting more on the trade. Bobby wanted to go with him, see how it was playing out first hand. He gave Henrickson the details about the prisoner and instructions to interrogate. Henrickson turned in his first report today, and asked me to type it up for him.”

“Lazy bastard. You’re not his secretary. You tell him no?” Dean noted how her hand shook as it moved up to a folder on her desk.

“No, I took it. You didn’t see him. It was horrible.” She slid the folder to Dean.

He opened it. It was not just a report. It was a bloody mess of papers. “Shit.”

“Dean, language.” It was a half-hearted chiding.

“Sorry.” Normally, Dean wouldn’t use such coarse words in her presence, but the papers he gave her… There was so much blood.

“It’s very detailed. I typed it up. While he sat here, talking, bragging about what he had done. I mean, I know what you all do. I support it. This was different. I don’t think that you enjoy doing what you do, Dean, but he did. He enjoyed it a great deal.” Dean rested a hand on hers and let his thumb stroke back and forth. “He even asked me out before he left.”

“He what?”

“I said no.”

“Good. I’ll have some words with him.” Dean stood up.

“No, I don’t want this to turn into anything.”

“No, this was not okay. If he can’t be a professional around here, then he has no business being here.” He moved away from her desk, carrying the folder with him. “I’ll check back in with you before I go.”

“I really don’t want you to mention this. It’ll make things awkward for me.”

“Trust me K. I know how to handle this.” Dean put on an air of confidence as he left her room. He contemplated the ways that he would like to handle this. Henrickson was brash and not the greatest agent. What Bobby saw in him was beyond Dean. He made his way down the long hall. He could hear noises, familiar noises, coming from Krushnic’s room.

He entered without knocking. Krushnic was strapped to a table. Henrickson was holding the electrodes over Krushnic’s naked thighs. Krushnic was bloody and shaking. His eyes darted to Dean’s. Henrickson said, “You’re a day early.”

“What question did you ask him?”

“I didn’t ask him anything. I was just getting him warmed up.” Henrickson flashed a grin but let it fall when Dean didn’t return the look in kind.

“That is not protocol. I have also reviewed your report. He waved the folder in front of him. I am relieving you from duty for 48 hours. Report back to me in two days. Go home.” Dean’s voice was low and set to intimidate.

“Dean…” He bit off the rest of the sentence and set down the device that he had been using. He stepped around the table to Dean. “You don’t have the authority to send me out for two days.” It was a foolish choice.

Dean’s hand swept up to Henrickson’s throat and squeezed. Henrickson was unprepared as he was slammed back against the far wall. “You think Bobby would do any differently. While he’s out, I’m his second. I make the calls. You go home. When you come back, it better be with a different perspective.” He shoved Henrickson off the wall. He stumbled and moved to the door.

As he left he said, “I’m writing this up, Winchester.”

“Go for it. See how that works out for you.” Henrickson closed the door in a mighty slam. Dean turned his attention to Krushnic. He was a broken mess of a man on the table. His dark brown hair matted with his own blood. His body, nearly entirely unclothed, contained rivers of cuts and bruises. Dean didn’t think. He just set to work unstrapping him from the table. There were protocols here, and he wasn’t following them. “I’m sorry.” There was a bowl of water and a rough white wash cloth sitting on the table. It had been brought in for the interrogation and Henrickson’s personal clean up. Dean used the washcloth now to dab at the cuts on Krushnic’s arms. “I’m so sorry.”

Krushnic’s eyes had been closed. He opened them a crack, and stared at Dean as he cleaned the wounds. He did not speak. Dean wondered what had changed, really in the last day. He shouldn’t be this upset, but now as he looked down at this man, he felt a stab of pity and remorse that ran quite deep. There was something in him, something almost familiar. Dean helped lift and move him to the bed once he had cleaned up most of the blood. “Thank you,” Krushnic croaked out.

“Are you okay?”

“I will be.” Krushnic’s eyes darted to the door. “You came back early.”

“I did. How did you know how long I’d be gone for?” Dean pulled over a chair and sat facing him.

“The agent said that he’d have three days with me before you came back and that you’d finish whatever he started.” Krushnic curled in on himself a little.

Dean wondered at all that Henrickson had done. Some of it was clear, but to have broken this once entirely in control man in so little time was a testament to his skill in the field of torture. Dean’s eyes did a slow sweep of Krushnic’s body. He lingered on his legs. There was a long gash on his thigh that would likely leave a scar. Dean got up and walked to the door. An agent was out there. He was one of the younger ones. “Go get me some medical supplies, gauze, stitching supplies...” Dean looked back into the room at Krushnic. The agent nodded and went off and Dean waited. The room was quiet. Krushnic had his eyes closed and he breathed slowly, carefully. “I did not authorize this sort of treatment. No one here would have authorized this treatment.”

Krushnic opened his eyes now and said, “Now that’s not true, is it Agent Winchester?” He stared at him steadily. “You forget that I saw how Uriel was returned to us. This is par for the course. It is what I would have faced eventually if I did not offer up useful intel. I just didn’t expect that it would come to me so soon. I had hoped that you would see me and…” He paused and seemed to struggle with his breathing. “I had hoped that you’d believe me before it came to anything like this.”

The agent came back with a tray of supplies. Dean set them down and waved the agent out. He cleaned the wound on Krushnic’s leg and began stitching the gash closed. He felt confident in his ability to do just as good a job as the medic that they employed for such things. He looked to Krushnic’s face. “I wouldn’t have tortured you for the pleasure of it. What I do is done with purpose.” He made the distinction because somehow he thought that it mattered. He didn’t enjoy his job, despite being good at it.

“That matters.”

“It does.”

“Do you believe me, that I did not interrogate your brother?” Krushnic’s question drew Dean’s attention back to his face. He didn’t know how much to reveal. He still wasn’t a hundred percent certain that Krushnic was entirely on the up and up. He really only had the word of MacLeod and Krushnic’s utterance of the word _Poughkeepsie_.

Dean looked at him though. He read the way that Krushnic’s eyes held him. He couldn’t shake the familiarity of him. “I believe that you did not interrogate my brother. I don’t know that I believe the rest, but I’ve chosen to believe that much.”

A look of relief and possibly pleasure passed over Krushnic’s face. Dean worried about that a little, but instead chose to focus on making tight stitches to seal the wound in Krushnic’s leg. At least this would be something he could handle right now.


	3. Chapter 3

 

Dean ran his hands back up through his hair. He was trying to take in all of the information that Krushnic was giving him. “So, you’re the reason that we had Uriel in our care?”

“Yes.” Krushnic was sitting up now hands folded in his lap. The medical treatment that he had received from Dean and the doctor left him with stitches and a few wounds wrapped in gauze bandages. Dean felt responsible for all of it. Here was this guy that had been his brother’s trusted source, and now he was a prisoner, sitting in a cell, tortured and scarred.

It had been just over a week since Dean had found him tortured by Henrickson, and since then, he had gone to great lengths to fact check the things that he was learning from Krushnic. He asked for the days that Krushnic had met with Sam and then he checked those dates against what he had written in his notebook. He asked for the code that had been used when Krushnic had handed off the names to Sam. All of Krushnic’s information checked out. He was either telling the truth, or he was the most skilled liar that Dean had ever met. The latter was possible, but Dean felt like the man was telling him the truth, and sometimes you just have to know when to trust your instincts.

“I’m sorry about all of this,” Dean said again.

“It doesn’t matter. I need to look like I’ve been mistreated. When the trade occurs, it will seem odd if I go in with no signs of trauma.” He smiled. He actually smiled, and Dean felt worse.

“Look, I really don’t know what to do from here. I’ve got to talk with Bobby and work out this trade. I’ve gotta fact check some more of the stuff that you shared.”

“You still don’t believe me?”

“It’s not that. It’s that I’m not sure that your countrymen let you in on all the truth. I’m willing to bet that they know a bit more about your loyalties than you’ve imagined.” Dean got up and paced a bit.

“I suppose that’s possible. I was quite careful though.”

“You even said that Sam figured things out about you before you revealed them.”

“Yes, but your brother is an exceptional agent.”

“How did they catch him?” Dean came back to his chair and sat down.

Krushnic huffed out a little air. “Sam put my safety before his own.” He looked down at his hands and seemed to shake a little. “We were going to meet. Uriel was back and well. He was set to interrogate some minor prisoner that had failed to cross over to the west. We were told to learn about those that were helping to move people from the east to the west. We wanted to stall the mass exodus that we were facing.” Krushnic looked up and added, “They’ve tightened security at the border rather significantly. You’ve heard how people are even modifying cars and hiding in the engine compartments?”

“I’ve heard.” Dean asked, “So what did this interrogation have to do with Sam getting caught?”

“Well, the man we questioned mentioned how he got help from a tall man, an American. The way he went on to describe him, I knew he was talking about Sam. He said that they would always meet up at the same location, and he gave them the address.”

“Seems as though Sammy couldn’t just do his basic job. He just had to help move people over the border too.”

“Your brother is a kind man.” Krushnic got up and paced the room slowly, rolling his shoulders a little. He groaned at the pain that he likely felt, but just kept pacing. “I couldn’t get to him in time. I tried to warn him.”

Dean got up and settled a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you. Thank you for trying.”

“The worst was that they got him back to the facility, and I had to sit in on his interrogation. He avoided looking at me. I wondered how long he’d be able to keep from telling them that he knew me. When Uriel got up to speak with one of the guards about the implements that he needed, Sam and I made eye contact. I did my best after that to offer up comfort or reassurances whenever Uriel was not in the room.”

“You said that Sam was caught because he put your safety over his own?”

“Yes, I was supposed to meet with him at a bar. We were both doing something for a mutual associate. I waited for him, but he didn’t show. He knew he was being followed. After I gave up on the waiting, he apparently showed up and was taken. He only came to the bar because he thought that he’d lost his follower. Unfortunately he was wrong.” Dmitri sighed and added, “He could have met with me anyway, learned what I knew, but he didn’t because he worried that I’d be compromised, maybe worse. His choices saved me. I owe him my life.”

“Any idea why he gave you the word _Poughkeepsie_?” Dean had wondered who the message was directed toward.

“He’d done some research with the list that I gave to him. He was concerned about your name and Agent Singer’s name being on the list. I can only assume that he wishes for you to be wary of danger. I assume that this word is connected to that.”

“My name was on the list?”

“Yes, you didn’t know that?”

“No, we knew about Bobby, but not me. Seriously?” Dmitri just nodded at him. “Well, Hell, you know that’s your headline right there.” Dmitri canted his head to the side and Dean added, “You should have said something, you know like, by the way your name is on a short list of people we need to kill.”

“Sorry. I thought you knew.”

“You’ve given me a lot to think about.” Dean moved to the door. “How’d I make the list?”

“Uriel holds a grudge. I imagine he was instrumental. Sorry.” Krushnic looked genuinely sorry too.

“Do you know who the assassin is?”

“No, I don’t get that information.”

“I’m going to meet with Agent Singer and share with him what you’ve told me.” Dean nodded to the bed. “Try to get some rest. I’ll be back in the morning.”

Krushnic nodded in reply and Dean left. The door closed behind him with an audible click of finality. The guard stationed at the door looked at him, waiting for directions. “Agent Winchester?” He prompted.

Dean had already told the other guard, but this one was new, so he felt that the directions bore repeating. “No one enters the room except for myself or Agent Singer. No one will come to you with permission to enter from me unless I am standing here in front of you saying exactly that. You may bring him his food and other necessities, but no one else enters. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir.” The guard actually saluted and Dean had to stifle a little laugh at that.

“Okay then.” Dean walked down the hall and made his way to Bobby’s office. K was sitting at her desk dutifully typing away at some memo. She had settled back into her usual mood of calm  determination. When she saw Dean she smiled.

“You doing okay, Dean?”

“Yes.” Dean glanced at the door to Bobby’s office. “When’s he due back?”

“Tomorrow, early.” K got up and rounded the desk. “Thank you, Dean.” She hugged him and released him swiftly. They hadn’t spoken of the issue with Henrickson. It was clear that he had taken care of the problem. And though he had returned to the office, he steered clear of both Dean and K.

He cupped her cheek and said, “Anytime, doll.” Then he smiled at her. “Bobby’d be right angry if I didn’t look out for his best girl.”

K’s demeanor shifted and she said, “Well, I’m certainly not so fragile Mr. Winchester.” She returned to her desk and busied herself. “Well, get going. I’ll make sure he knows that you want to see him tomorrow when he gets in.” Dean headed out with a casual glance back at her.

* * *

 

One person can make a great difference in the grand scheme of things. Bobby’s return heralded two major changes. One change involved Henrickson being transferred to another facility, the other involved K. Apparently it just took his interaction with Henrickson to move Bobby toward some action with her.

“So he just marched right up to you and asked you to dinner?” Dean leaned against her desk and asked.

“Well he wasn’t that smooth. You know Bobby.” She laughed and Dean laughed with her.

“Well it’s about time.”

“You can say that again.” K buzzed Bobby’s phone and said, “Mr. Winchester’s here to see you.”

“Send him in,” Bobby’s rough voice replied.

Dean cast a smile back at K and strolled into Bobby’s office. “Hey old man. Welcome back.” Dean pulled out a chair and took a seat.

“You’ve been busy since I’ve been gone. Remind me why I thought that nothing big could happen in a week.” His voice was casual and friendly, so Dean knew there was no reprimand forthcoming.

“Sorry ‘bout that. Seems that most big things need to happen all at once. Glad you’re back though.” Dean’s tone fell into something more serious.

“K gave me your reports. I’ve dealt with Henrickson. He should be packing his desk as we speak. The rest,” he paused for a breath, “I’m a bit overwhelmed by it all.”

“You and I both.”

“So Krushnic is a double agent?”

“Yes.”

Bobby leaned forward on his desk a bit. “And you believe him?”

“What he’s shared so far is checking out. I’ve got one more thing to check on, but so far he’s given dates and details that he couldn’t have gotten in any other way. Sammy gave me detailed reports for every interaction that he had in Berlin.”

“Well, not every interaction,” Bobby interrupted.

“Yeah, true. He had his side cases, his immigration work. Still, I even knew a little about that, and Dmitri knew about that stuff too.”

“So it’s Dmitri now?” Bobby interrupted again.

“Sorry, Krushnic. Anyway, he knew about Sam’s side gigs.” Dean paused and threw his arms out a little adding, “It means something that he knew about that. He was even helping him with some of that.”

“Interesting.” Bobby pulled the report over and asked, “So I haven’t gotten to finish it yet. Just got to the business about Benny and then I had to deal with Henrickson.” He opened the report to that section and asked, “Any summary information I should be aware of?”

“Benny was the source for our names, but we already knew that. They used Andrea to get to him, but the worst part is that Andrea is working for the Ruskies.” Bobby looked down at the report and then back at Dean in shock.

“I just met up with her. I just had dinner with her last night when I got in, just to check on things with Benny. She’s been sitting by Benny’s side in the hospital everyday. There’s no way.” Bobby got up from his desk and stalked over to the window.

“Krushnic said that she had been one of their agents for years. She’s been feeding them information gleaned through her connection with Benny. He never knew.” Dean saw the look on Bobby’s face shift with the new information. He had felt the same betrayal when Krushnic had shared the information. Benny had been captured and tortured and eventually saved, but he had been rotting over there for months. It took so long to save him. Now, even now, he had yet to recover fully.

Bobby slammed his fist against the window frame and said, “Damn it. Damn it all.” He turned back to Dean and said, “What am I supposed to do now? Benny’s just barely making progress. I don’t even want to think about what this’ll do to him.”

“I know. I went by to see him and just missed seeing her. I decided not to tell him just yet,” Dean said. “I asked about Krushnic. Got some information without saying much.” Dean looked down at his hands folded in his lap and added, “I didn’t want to believe she was one of them. It makes sense though. A lot of Benny’s work got compromised much quicker than mine or Sam’s. Someone close had to be tipping them off.”

“She asked to see me today, but I told her that I had to work. She said that she wanted to talk about Benny and what she could do to help. She implied that she wanted to work for us. It gave me pause, because Benny wouldn’t have told her. However, she’s not stupid. She had to know something after the interrogation.”

“Well, she’s on the take. She is not to be trusted.”

“I’ve got a meeting with her this afternoon. I need to decide whether or not we use her to feed bad intel to the other side or do we just arrest her outright.” Bobby came back to his desk and slumped into the seat.

“You want me here for the meeting with her?”

“Maybe. Perhaps you can just hover out in the other room with K. Seems like she might be of use as a bearer of bad information.”

Dean sighed and said, “I can’t disagree. Besides we have bigger fish to fry with the Sammy and Krushnic situation.”

Bobby looked up then and said, “Hmm, maybe we should offer Andrea up as the trade. Seems somewhat unfair that Krushnic pays for his help by being tossed back into the fire.”

Dean’s brow came up, “You think they’d go for it? I mean, Garth has all but gotten a date for the exchange. He’s so close. Would the change set us back?” Dean didn’t want to sound hopeful, but he was. He had been quite bothered by the idea of some innocent party being traded for his brother. Truth be told, he also wasn’t so certain that Krushnic would survive the trade, despite his words to the contrary. Dean felt like Krushnic was going back to die. And something told Dean that Krushnic knew this too.

“It’s worth a shot. Sam would want us to try.” Bobby got up and put on his jacket to go out. “I’ve got some arrangements to make before she gets here. Be back here around 2:00, and I’ll test your theory that she’s a traitor. If she is, we’ll arrest her immediately and tell Garth to alter the deal.”

They shook hands and Dean departed. He decided to go see Krushnic again to kill the time.


	4. Chapter 4

The exodus of human beings from the GDR occurred in 1953. Stalin was attempting to change the face of life in East Berlin, and many, more than 300,000, felt that these were changes that they could not tolerate. It was perhaps because of these migrations that Naomi had approached Dmitri with her desires. Getting her and Anna out was not something he, at first, thought possible. After all, Naomi knew things, many things. Her rank and distinction would prevent an easy migration into a brave new world.

Krushnic looked out over the paperwork spread out on the table in front of him. He wondered again if it would have been easier to have gotten them out if they had been living in the GDR. He shook the thought away as he read over one of their documents. No, Naomi would still know too much to go unnoticed even in that region. It would always come down to that, not the place that she called home. Still Moscow was far from anywhere safe. The distance would be an issue. Plus, there was still so much that could go wrong.

Leaving was not going to be simple, when it came to his family. The only escape for Naomi and Anna had to involve death, for to leave and live would mean that they’d always have to be looking over their shoulders, waiting for the bullet that would inevitably take them down.

Their people were resourceful, and they’d eventually succeed in taking down two such important defectors as his mother and sister. It worried Dmitri, the thought that they could set so much in motion that could inevitably kill them.

He looked up from the papers to Anna’s face, half hidden behind a curtain of her hair. “It will work. They are good papers.” He tried to adopt a tone of calm reassurance.

“I don’t know Dmitri. I just don’t feel good about leaving without you.” She could barely look at him. “Won’t they suspect that you helped us? Won’t they take this leaving out on you?”

“If we’ve done this right, they’ll just think you’re both dead, so there will be nothing for them to think beyond the traditional sympathy for the ones left behind, me. Also, I’ve been careful. I’ve given them some very actionable intel in the last couple of weeks. They have praised me openly for my loyalty and efforts. I will manage to keep them from suspecting anything. Timing is crucial though. The bodies look like you both, but if we don’t burn them, they’ll be able to tell the difference. The car accident will happen when you take her to the country house. I have someone trustworthy ready to meet you.” He came around to her side of the table. “I love you.” He reached out to her and settled a hand on her cheek. She looked up at him now, and she was crying.

“I know.”

He looked up at the clock. “When will mother be here?”

“It’ll be at least an hour.” She hesitated a moment and said, “You’ll be back in Berlin when it happens?”

“Yes. In fact, I need to leave now or risk missing my flight.” He pulled her into a hug. “You’ll be okay. You both will. I promise.” She pressed her face into his chest. His tan trench coat smelled of cigar smoke, and he thought about how much she hated it when he came home smelling of it. Now though, she was breathing it all in like it was something worthy of note.

She leaned back and said, “You be safe. Don’t let on. You’ll have to put on an air of mourning for us or they’ll know. I know that you don’t like to display your emotions. Haven’t seen you cry in years.”

“Crying doesn’t solve life’s problems.”

“It’s not why you cry. And if you don’t cry, they’ll know something is wrong.”

“I’ll do my best.” He felt like he could maybe cry now. It’d be harder once he knew that they had gotten away. He’d be too happy. She stepped away from him and gathered up the papers. Her passport and documents were placed into a large leather satchel. She turned to go. It’d be the last he’d see of her for some time. He reached out to her one more time and she stopped. His hand squeezed her shoulder. “Be careful.”

“Always,” she said under her breath. And with that, she was out the door. Krushnic gripped the back of the chair and felt his body slump forward. He choked back a sob, steeled himself, and tried to remember to just breathe.

* * *

 

He arrived back in Berlin too early to drop back into the office and too on edge to go to his small flat. Thankfully, he had arranged the meeting. There was a cafe on the edge of town that opened early and seemed content to serve its patrons in silence. If one arrived early enough, one could sit outside and stare at the river. It was a pleasant enough place to wait. Dmitri reached out for the steaming mug of coffee the moment that the waitress set it down in front of him.

He sipped at it casually, breathing in the steam as he peered over the rim. A tall man was walking toward him. He had on the long, thick wool coat, the winter uniform for these parts. His grey scarf was wrapped a little too tight around his neck. He pulled the chair out across from Dmitri and loosened the scarf a little so that his face was a bit more visible. “Hello.”

Dmitri smiled and took another drink. “Hello, Sam.” His voice was a low growl. His Russian accent painted everything. “Have you heard from your contacts?” Sam had arranged everything with regards to his mother and Anna. He had told himself to steer clear of them, steer clear of the Winchesters. They didn’t need to know him, nor did they need to get sucked into his difficulties. But in the end, there was no one better than Sam Winchester when it came to extracting people from tough circumstances. MacLeod had pushed for this, had claimed that it was the best option, the only option. Sometimes he worried about how much MacLeod knew and how much he could ruin if he so desired.

“My contacts won’t be able to tell me anything for awhile, hours maybe. The last contact I had though was good. They were enroute to the rendezvous point. They said that all was proceeding as planned.” Sam waved to the waitress and tapped the empty mug in front of him. She brought over her coffee pot and poured his mug full. “I have every confidence that things are still going according to plan. My track record with such things is excellent, as MacLeod must have told you.”

“I know. It’s why I chose to work with you on this. A man in my position can’t take risks. You did not seem to be a risk.” Dmitri took another sip of the coffee. “I am glad that we arranged this meeting. Even that little bit of information is a comfort.”

“Then I assume that we’ll be able to work together on some of the other items that we discussed?” There was a question in the tone. Sam added a splash of cream to his coffee and gave it a stir before drinking it down in a couple of loud gulps.

“Of course. As I gain intelligence that is sufficient, I’ll arrange to meet you here or somewhere equally convenient. It has been quiet of late. Our focus has been on the quelling of the mass exodus that we’ve been experiencing.”

“Ah, well it couldn’t have been a surprise. Rigged elections and impending travel restrictions don’t usually sit well with the masses.”

“True.” They sat in silence a moment or two. The air was cool and the gentle lapping of water on the river’s banks made everything seem quite peaceful.

“I’m planning to move a few dozen men and women over the border this next week. Any thoughts on routes?” Sam set down his mug and leaned back a little.

“Our energies will be focused in and around Check-point Charlie. The trains are still the best way out. That just involves paperwork and level-headedness.” He set down his mug as well and said, “You will not find it easy in a few months. In fact, I’d move as many as you can now.”

Sam seemed to consider this for a few moments and then asked, “If I needed to bring in another agent to help with some of this, would you meet him?”

“No. I will only work with you.” Dmitri was careful. He worried about how deep this connection could go. He figured he could sever it easily enough if it became too risky for Sam.

“I get that. I just think that I can do more with a little extra help. He’s absolutely trustworthy.” Sam folded his hands and leaned in adding, “In fact, he’s my brother.”

“No,” Dmitri said again, perhaps too quickly. “I need to limit my contacts entirely.”

Sam looked like he was going to pursue the topic further. “Look…”

Dmitri held up a hand and said, “Sam, if you want to continue this relationship, you’ll need to keep this just between the two of us.” He got up then and slid some money under the coffee mug. “I do appreciate what you’ve done for my family,” he added.

Sam looked up at him and said, “So we’ll meet here again in two weeks like we planned?”

“Yes, MacLeod will contact you.” Dmitri gave him a nod and walked away from the table.

* * *

 

He walked through the streets, choosing the long route to the building that he worked in nearly every day. Dmitri noted the people that he passed, their faces and hand placements. He was always careful. You never knew when something might go wrong. He let his mind slide into deeper distracting thoughts though too.

He was betraying people. He had resigned himself to this, but he wasn’t entirely comfortable with it. He had spent years working with the same people, day in and day out. They were friends. They were loyal to him. He felt the stab of cold morning air biting at his chest. Meeting with Sam brought certain things to the surface. It would be one thing to say that you’d trade in your country's secrets for the good of your family. It was another thing entirely to actually do it.

He considered what he could keep back, who he could protect while actually betraying everyone. There were those that he thought he wouldn’t betray, not for the world. There were those that Sam would want to know about. Some things mattered a great deal to Dmitri though, and loyalty, however twisted it was right now, mattered so much.

He got back into the building and snaked his way down the halls. He looked over the many desks already populated with people that he had known for years. He slipped into his desk and tried to push aside all of the distracting thoughts.

One thought lingered a little though as he pulled over a folder from the edge of the desk. His mother and Anna were heading to the cabin, and not the cabin. The plan was in motion. It would be a few days before he’d be notified, and he knew it. It felt odd to look at the clock and see the times pass at which key events would occur. At 3:00 they’d meet up with Muriel and at 5:00 the staging of the crash would occur. He had to work until 6:00. They had captured an American and he would need to be ready for the interrogation on the following day.

He didn’t mention the captured man to Sam. He felt guilty about that, and yet he didn’t know what he could say about it. Too many people were connected to this case. There’d be no way to discuss any of it without betraying all of them. MacLeod had told him that he needed to just bloody well pick a side. He couldn’t just betray his people a little. It was all or nothing. Dmitri knew that this was true, and still…

He took a deep breath, opened the folder, and read the dossier on the American. He studied the man like he was the most important thing in the universe. Time passed, and he noted it without seeming to note it. When evening finally came to him, he pulled on his coat slowly, said goodbye to a few of the men that would work into the night, and eased out into the world again.

* * *

 

He entered his flat intent on falling into his bed for an early end to his day. He hadn’t eaten though, so something had to happen on that front. He rummaged through his cabinets and found some barely edible items to quickly force down. He wandered to the window and considered the street below. It was empty despite the fact that it wasn’t so late. The sky still held within it the barest hints of daytime hues.

He leaned into the window frame and waited for the night. The dark sky made him feel comfort somehow. He thought that it might have been a by-product of the war, of his time there. In the dark, his lies didn’t matter. He was just a body in space, passing time. He leaned his head to the glass and let the coolness of it comfort his forehead. The beginnings of a headache were there. He could feel the throb of it behind his eyes as he closed them.

The headache would get worse. He could tell already. It would be the kind to pound away at him like the never ceasing pattern of artillery fire that filled the nights of long ago. He accepted this as part of his penance. He thought often of what he was, of his lies, who he had hurt, who he could hurt. Talk of duty hardly mattered if you left more harm in your wake than good. He weighed the damage he’d left behind often and found himself continually lacking in goodness.

He dragged himself to the bed as the first stars of the evening peeked out through the dark. Thoughts of the past danced through his mind as sleep overtook him.

* * *

 

Dmitri stood on the dock at the harbor, contemplating his life’s choices. He looked back at the rolling waves of the Atlantic and smiled at the peacefulness of it. And as is common enough in dreams, he felt the world slide by him in streaks and whorls, until he wasn’t at the dock anymore. He was completing a mission. In the dream, it was easy. In reality, it had been months of effort. He obtained the documents though, created the microdots, and hid them for transfer as if it was the easiest thing. At the time, he was supposed to accomplish the mission and then head home without delay. He didn’t do that though.

Dmitri’s world swirled by him again, and the dream took him west. He was in Chicago, sitting in a restaurant at an outdoor table facing the back of a sandy haired man. The sidewalks were crowded. The noise of cars and the nearby train filled the space. The man turned a little as the door to the restaurant opened and a few additional patrons came out to sit in the sun.

He sucked in a breath of air, sharp and cool as he caught sight of his face. Dean. He looked the same. The small trickle of years had only enhanced the look of him. His jaw carried hints of stubble. The sunlight on him gave him a glow that might only have existed in the dream, but Dmitri would argue otherwise.

An older man joined him at the table and leaned in close to speak. Dean listened and at one point, Dmitri heard him say, “But Dad, this isn’t necessary.”

Dmitri committed the man’s face to memory, the roughness of him, the wild mop of dark hair peppered with grey. He wore a suit that had seen better days. He brought his hands up to the table and folded them together slowly. He said, “I’m going back. The Russians are not to be trusted. They’ve got men coming here already.” His voice had dropped then and Dmitri hadn’t heard the rest.

Dean reached across the table and settled his hand briefly on his father’s. “Sam’s going with you?”

Dean’s father pulled his hands away and settled them beneath the table. “He wants this. He needs field training.”

“He wants to go to college.”

“This is more important, and he knows that. We talked about it.”

Dean drummed at the table a moment and asked. “What’s Bobby say about that?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he practically growled out. “That man’s not Sam’s father and he ain’t yours either. I know what we need to be doing, and he’s my second on this.”

Dean looked away and said, “Okay then.” And though he agreed, the tone of his voice, the way that the muscles in his back seemed to tighten, Dmitri knew that he didn’t agree. The dream swirled through days, weeks, a month. He had managed to make it seem necessary back when it was real.

He learned of Dean’s patterns, his friends. He followed him to bars, and work, and home. Through all of it he couldn’t shake the feeling that Dean was not happy. He had expected to find him settled into a small house with a wife and maybe a great big bounding dog. He thought there might be a child by this time too. It had been a few years after all, and the end of the war seemed to contribute to that sort of thing.

Dean was alone though, and it did something to him to see that. With his father gone, Dean seemed to take on some side mission. He was at the local library nearly everyday after he left what Dmitri assumed was his workplace. He also assumed that Dean was not working in a traditional job. The more he learned, the more he felt that they had far more in common than should have been possible.

It had worried him. He had wanted more for Dean than his kind of existence. He watched him in the library late one night until he left. He took a risk. He had left some of the things he’d been looking at on the library counter as he left. Dmitri came out from the shadows of the stacks and looked through them. They were old newspapers, and an odd assortment of other documents. There was a pad of paper sitting off to the side. He had seen Dean writing something on it just before he left.

Dmitri picked up a pencil from the desk behind the counter and rubbed it over the paper. The words showed up like magic. _James Novak. Pontiac, Illinois._ Dmitri tipped his head back and closed his eyes. Of all the foolish things he’d ever done, why did he pick a name that connected to anyone real? The first name was different sure, but the last name and the connection to the war…

The dream spun him forward in time and away from Chicago to Pontiac. James Novak had the house, with the wife and kid. He had the dream. Dean had spent some time in the house, presumably talking with the man whose life he had stolen just a little. He had met him prior to the war just outside of the enlistment office. He was having breakfast alone in a small diner. For reasons beyond his comprehension, Dmitri joined him, claiming that the place was pretty full, it was, and that they should endeavor to conserve space. No further explanation was needed. Jimmy was generous like that. He was young and idealistic too. Their conversation flowed easily over the hour that they sat together. He talked of home, and his family with such love and kindness. He gave his name and Dmitri gave his middle name, but changed the last name to match. They marveled at the coincidence. Dmitri regretted it for a moment, but later felt like he needed the feeling of kinship that the name provided. It was foolish though, to choose this. To make himself somehow less than a ghost.

Jimmy told him about how he was going to enlist later that afternoon. Dmitri said that he had similar plans. They had laughed at the thought that they might end up in the same squad, forever explaining that they were not in fact related. When they parted, Jimmy wished him the best, and Dmitri went to his temporary home at a local motel. He altered his paperwork and readied himself for enlistment. Thus Cas Novak was born.

He remembered the worry that flowed through his veins as Dean lingered in the house. Would Jimmy remember him, the diner, the conversation. He tried to remember himself, what had been shared, what lies he had told. He waited and watched, and some time later, Dean emerged. Jimmy followed him and shook his hand. Dean moved down the stairs slowly, casting a glance back as he went as if there was something there that he was still looking for.

Dean slipped into his car, but didn’t drive away immediately. Instead, he sat there with his hands on the wheel, gaze fixed on some place off in the distance. Dmitri watched him from the cover of some trees across the street. The distance was great enough so as to keep him hidden but not so great that he couldn’t pick up some of the expressions dancing over Dean’s features. He was upset. It wasn’t clear if he was sad or angry or maybe disappointed. Dean lowered his head to the steering wheel then and seemed to just breathe there in a posture of abject misery.

When he drove away from the curb some moments later, it was at a slow crawl like he maybe didn’t want to do even that.

Dmitri had wondered about that day, those moments, many times. The war had been long over, and Dean had not moved on. He had instead spent countless hours searching for a ghost. Dmitri thought about it and wondered why it mattered to Dean. They’d been trapped in that cave for the briefest period. There were other things one could focus upon, yet here he was in Pontiac of all places apparently trying to find him. He felt his chest folding in on itself. He felt the strange pressure of too much contemplation pounding out at his temples even in the dream.

And in the midst of wondering about Dean’s choices, he somehow realized that for him it was the same. He was standing off in the shadows, thousands of miles from home, watching Dean, learning what he could about this man that haunted his dreams. The time together in the cave included shared stories. Dean spoke of his brother, his mother, his father. He spoke of her death and of his father’s work with the government. Some things he left vague, others he shared in great detail.

He didn’t know when he started seeing Dean as more than just a soldier trapped with him. He didn’t know when Dean had become something of a beacon, a thin strip of light in an otherwise dark world, but somehow the change had happened. When they escaped, it may have seemed as though he had led Dean out of the mountain, out of the dark. In reality though, Dmitri always felt like it was Dean who had saved him. It was Dean who had made him see something beyond the life he was living. It was Dean who made him feel as though it would even be worth trying to live at all even if there was no mission to dictate the necessity for it.

* * *

 

The next day was much more difficult. His dreams had left him feeling unsettled. There was also the journey that his mother and Anna were on. Any and all distractions were greatly appreciated. He wondered with each passing minute if the plan had gone well, if they had managed to pull everything off. Would those that found the accident believe that the bodies belonged to Naomi and Anna? Would they question it, find it the least bit odd? That was the part that scared him the most, made his hands shake a little as he held his papers and pretended to read. He knew that he had to focus on something, anything else. There was the interrogation later that could draw him out of himself. He moved the folder on the edge of his desk back to the center and opened it.

He looked over the dossier for Benedict Lafitte. The man was all muscle, a Creole. Dmitri read through the entire file again. This one would be interesting. He’d likely not dial back his observations on this one as he sometimes did with the others. He needed to be sure to share enough so that his value was high, yet not so much as to be actually too helpful.

His changed loyalties did not stem from the most recent arrangement with Sam. In fact it had come about much earlier. His time in the war made him question much of what he had been taught. He had been told that the Americans were largely foolish, men to be thought of as inferior to all that they were. Their ideals and principles were so foreign to all that he was taught that he never once thought that he’d come to respect them for their differences. Then he was fighting alongside them, talking with them under starry nights with enemy fire driving away the silence one craved for sleep. It’s hard to hate people that you meet in those circumstances. Then there was Dean.

After the war, he made an effort toward finding out more about Dean Winchester. His efforts began long before his trip to Chicago and the time that he spent following him to Pontiac. He began keeping track of him almost from the moment that he had returned home from the South Pacific.

First he made sure that Dean had survived. That took some work, because he did not want anyone to know of his interest. It brought him to MacLeod though. Then he went to the extra length of following up on his career after the war. That had been even more difficult, because, of course, Dean Winchester couldn’t just choose a quiet life in some small, backwater town. No, he had to pick a career in espionage, enhanced interrogation, and other miscellaneous tasks for the CIA.

Learning of these things also came at a price. He had chosen to use MacLeod again, but with the strictest rules in place. Under no circumstances would Dean or anyone else ever learn of his interests. He even threatened MacLeod with a most painful death should even a hint of his interest escape his lips. It nearly came to that sort of an end once. Dmitri recalled a time not so long ago when MacLeod had started allowing himself to cross paths with Dean on a more regular basis.

It had first come to Dmitri’s full attention when Dean had managed to find himself in Germany. Dmitri had allowed himself the luxury of following him, listening to his polite conversations in perfect German. Dean shifted back into English when he was joined by a taller man with a sandy mop of unruly hair. Dmitri had learned that this man was Dean’s brother and that he too worked in the same field as Dean.

Dmitri listened to their talk. They spoke in a way that seemed natural to most people that might catch a word or two, but it was clear to Dmitri that everything that they were saying was in some sort of code.

They were going to work with MacLeod, and they were waiting for his arrival. Sam had pulled out some postcards and proceeded to write on one. Dmitri assumed that he was just trying to cover for something else that was going on, but Dean watched Sam's hand writing on the postcard with too much intensity. The card must contain a microdot or something of that nature. A good agent would intercept it. Dmitri would let it fly away.

He kept his head low and drank his coffee. MacLeod came in, his smug face holding a  broad smile when their eyes met. Dmitri wanted him to know that he was here, listening.

MacLeod took a seat at the table with the Winchester brothers. They greeted him with strained tones. Dmitri listened and learned enough about their mission to do them harm. He wouldn't, but it worried him that it was so easy.

It, perhaps, bothered him more that the tone of the conversation shifted once Sam left the table. MacLeod’s tone dipped lower and held an intimacy that made Dmitri uncomfortable. He glanced at them and saw how close they were to each other, legs pressed close, heads tipped toward each other.

Dmitri gripped the edge of the table to quiet his anger. He knew of MacLeod's proclivities, but he had assumed that he'd place a boundary between himself and the man that Dmitri was tracking.

After they made quiet plans to meet up at a local bar, Dean left. MacLeod got up and joined his table. “Hello, Dmitri. Fancy meeting you here.”

Dmitri reached across to him under the table and squeezed. The look on MacLeod's face was shocked and a little pained. “You lay one finger on him and you'll know the full extent of what I'm capable of.” He flexed his fingers and felt MacLeod's thighs on either side of his hand tense up.

MacLeod, though, was not easily manipulated. He bucked his hip up a little into Dmitri's hand, rolled his eyes back a little, and said, “Perhaps, you're bluffing. But maybe we should find someplace more private, and you can show me in great detail what not to do.”

Dmitri let go and returned his hand to his own space. “No. And I'm not bluffing.”

“He's interested. Is it your intention to interfere in all of his extracurricular activities?”

“Just the ones involving you.” He got up and left the table without a backwards glance at MacLeod. He made an active choice later though to not follow up on the threat and to not learn if there was something that warranted action.

* * *

 

Dmitri let the memory slip away. It had been well over a year since MacLeod had tangled up his life with the Winchesters. It was still a relative secret to them, but they were certainly linked now. If it hadn’t been for Sam, he’d never have even hoped to get Anna and his mother out of the country. MacLeod had made the arrangements and had seemed worried. His worry was reasonable. When Dmitri had first heard of the plan, he had slammed MacLeod against the nearest wall with a snarl.

It took some conversation and many reassurances to make him see reason. In the end, Dmitri had to agree that, in a case such as his, only the best would do, and the best was Sam Winchester. He couldn’t complain about the results either. It seemed like it had all worked. Anna and his mother would soon be safely en route to the states via a cargo ship, and they would live safely and free in the new land. Sam had done much for them. Dmitri knew that he’d have to be careful if he continued working with the younger Winchester.

Dmitri glanced at his watch. The sun was high in the late afternoon sky and he was due back soon. He had gone out to a small nearby park to eat his lunch. He wouldn’t be able to stomach it much after the interrogation that he would be a part of later. He finished and returned to his office and noted the extra layer of quiet that blanketed everything. _They've heard of the accident._ He readied himself for the interrogation. They would wait to tell him until after. They would want to keep him from distraction until after the work was done. He schooled back a smile that threatened to overtake his face. _Anna is safe. My mother is safe._

He picked up his dossier and notebook and walked down the hall with quiet assurance. Uriel was just outside of the interrogation room, waiting for him. “Did you have a pleasant lunch?”

“I did. You?” Uriel shrugged. They were friends. He was one of the reasons that Dmitri could not shift his loyalty so entirely. Uriel had sense and the will to preserve one’s privacy, and for that Dmitri respected him. Uriel had shown through subtle nods and a raised brow that he knew of Dmitri’s interests in men, yet he never said anything outright, nor did he seem to be particularly bothered by it. Uriel’s silence on the subject spoke volumes.

They entered the room silently. The Creole was sitting blindfolded. His first vision in over a week would be of Uriel's face. Dmitri took his place in the dark corner. He prepared to write. Uriel dragged the chair to a spot directly in front of the man. The harsh noise of it caused the man to jerk to attention. Uriel waited a beat while, Dmitri got comfortable. Uriel pulled away the mask and peered closely at the man’s face. “You know why you are here?” Uriel didn’t bother to translate his words into English. He knew that his words were understood.

“I know. A trade will be arranged.” The man stared back like he knew nothing of fear or of the many reasons that he should tread lightly with Uriel.

“Much can be accomplished in the time I’ll have with you.” Uriel got up and walked away from him. “You share an apartment with a woman on the edge of town. Am I right about that?” He kept his back to the man. No answer came from him, so Uriel continued. “Shall I call you Benny like your friends do?”

“We are not friends,” Lafitte spat out.

“The beauty of this,” Uriel now spoke in flawless French, “is that I don’t even need to torture you.” Uriel laughed. “I just have to work with what you love. I have men that can bring her to us. It will be easy. She will break you.”

At this, Dmitri made notations in the notebook that he was holding. He noted the way that Lafitte responded to the threats, the subtle twitches and movements. He felt sorry for him just a little. Then Lafitte smiled and said, “Guess it’ll really upset you to learn that I sent her away before you caught me. She’s well over a thousand miles away, likely eating jambalaya at a French Quarter cafe, waiting for my return. So do your best.”

Dmitri noted the way that Lafitte’s eyes gleamed with confidence. He knew Uriel’s game though, and how he’d win. Uriel chose this moment to beat Lafitte. He knew that it would serve no obvious purpose in the moment. It would not get Lafitte to admit to the things he knew. They hadn’t even asked him a question yet. It was too soon. What they wanted though, required this. Uriel had to look desperate. Lafitte had to feel absolute confidence. Then the world could be pulled out from under him. And it would be. Then they could ask him for the world, and they’d get it.

* * *

 

They did not tell him of the accident immediately after the first interrogation had ended, as he had thought that they would. This worried Dmitri somewhat. He pushed it aside though. He could not allow himself to look too anxious. The day passed a little slowly. He went to his flat and fell into a deep sleep. In his dream, he was being followed, and each turn down one dark alley or another was tighter and darker than the one before. He could practically feel the breath on his neck. He could not seem to put distance between them both.

His pulse quickened. He knew that it would not be long before he was caught. The presence surrounded him as he reached a dead end. He turned, and all was darkness, and it was suffocating him. He willed it back and tried to set his mind on something that could save him. He thought of a time long ago and sleep that wasn’t so lonely. He breathed in the remembered scent of the past. When he woke, his hands were still gripping the sheets tightly as if he needed to hold onto something, anything.

He returned to the office and what would include the second day of interrogations. Gorsky, a younger blonde man, with piercing dark eyes walked past his desk, giving him a nod as he did so. Dmitri gazed his fill on the retreating form. He was a pleasant, visual distraction. Dmitri enjoyed the occasional vision that he was afforded. A secretary approached next and asked him to come to the office of Karl Teplyakova. Dmitri did not question the request. He just followed.

The office was full to bursting with books of every sort. Teplyakova was a collector of things and books were his passion. His desk was a tidy stretch of polished mahogany. He sat on the other side of it waiting for Dmitri to enter. He motioned to the seat across from him and Dmitri sat down. He let his eyes sweep the room. He knew the space well as he had brought prisoners, and suspects to this place countless times. He knew of the room’s secrets, and horrors. He knew how easy it was for one to enter and never emerge, and how no one ever questioned it.

He returned his gaze to Teplyakova and waited. They were alone in the room, so Dmitri took this as a sign that he’d be allowed to leave again at the end of the conversation. When that wasn’t the plan, there was usually a second person brought in to aid in the possibly messy situation.

“You seem nervous, Krushnic.” Teplyakova’s words dripped like honey as he leaned back in his chair. He was the director and his word was law. Seeming nervous in his presence could be enough to end him.

Dmitri focused and pulled his expression into something harsh. “I’m considering the interrogation from the other day. I am concerned that you are going to ask me to debrief my findings. There was nothing of note to share, and I am concerned that you will find that disappointing.”

“You do not think that Lafitte has anything to share?”

“Oh, I think that he has plenty to share.” Dmitri folded his hands in his lap and leaned forward. “Uriel will get it from him. It will just take some time.”

“Good.” Teplyakova reached across his desk to a folder that he pulled to the space directly in front of him. He tapped the top of it a couple of times and said, “He is not why I have called you in here today.”

“Oh.” Dmitri felt his muscles tighten with the statement.

“I’m afraid that I have some news that is rather unpleasant.” Teplyakova seemed to be studying him, looking for a baseline. Dmitri gave him one. He was calm under the gaze. He relaxed his muscles. He unfolded his hands and let his mind drift a little. Teplyakova continued, “There has been an accident. Your mother and sister were driving somewhere. We have not gotten details on their destination. However, their car seems to have left the road. They may have hit some ice.”

Dmitri made himself interrupt. “Will I be allowed to go to them? What hospital are they in?” He even stood as he asked it.

Teplyakova waved a hand in front of him to coax Dmitri back into his seat. “Please.” Dmitri sat. “It appears as though the vehicle was rigged with some sort of explosive device.” Dmitri felt his muscles tense up again. They were not supposed to be able to tell that. They were supposed to think that the explosion was caused by the impact with the tree. “I’m sorry, but they did not survive.”

He gripped the front of the armrests on his chair tightly and felt himself shaking violently from fear that he hoped would look like something close to grief. He knew that words were required, but he could not decide on what they should be. “No,” he whispered. Then a little louder, “Who could’ve done this?”

“We are looking into this.” Teplyakova looked sincere as he added, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“I wish to see them.” He thought that the best plan was to seem shocked. He was shocked a little by the bump in the plan. He could put off the crying that Anna required of him until after he had seen them.

“I’m afraid that that will be impossible. There is nothing to see.”

“Still, I’d like to see them.”

“You are needed here.” Teplyakova got up then and came around to the other side of the desk. He set a hand on Dmitri’s shoulder. “Go home for the day, tomorrow too. We will postpone your duties for the time being.” Dmitri got up and felt his body grow weak. His legs shook. Teplyakova gripped him tighter and threw his other arm around him in support. “Come now. I’ll have Uriel drive you home.” He directed him to the door and motioned for Uriel to come in. Uriel was already standing near the door, likely already having been clued into the tragedy.

“I’ve got you.” Uriel slipped his arm under Dmitri’s and Teplyakova stepped back, releasing him.

“Take him home. Pick him up in two days to resume the interrogation.” With that he slipped back into his office and closed the door. _Two days to mourn. One day for each. How generous._ He let Uriel have much of his weight as he dragged himself out to the car. Uriel for his part did not say a word. He just mechanically drove him home and helped haul him up the stairs to the apartment.

Dmitri closed the door with Uriel still on the outside and went into his room to his bed. He fell face down onto the sheets and closed his eyes, burying his smile in the pillow. _They were free, and they were safe._

* * *

 

The interrogations with Lafitte continued. Uriel was highly skilled, never letting on what he planned to do. Dmitri noted the minute shifts of posture and limited responses to the unimportant, base questions that Uriel asked. He’d seen these sorts of interrogations countless times. The tactics used were gruesome and also effective. He never had the stomach for them though, and often would have to excuse himself for a few hours to collect his head. Uriel would watch for signs of his flagging attention. He called it Dmitri’s weakness, ‘he cared too much.’ Luckily though, Uriel seemed to tolerate this in Dmitri as his skill in observation was unparalleled.

Uriel had asked in the third day, about spies that the US had in place within the GDR. It was the first important question that they had asked. A listening device had been found at one of their government offices and all of their investigations had turned up nothing. Knowing who was less than loyal, who was working for the US was vital. Of course Lafitte said nothing. Well, he didn’t exactly say nothing. He offered up snark and nonsense answers. Occasionally he would glance at Dmitri and roll up a lascivious blood soaked grin.

Dmitri noted those moments and others that spoke to the man’s character. By the end of the week, he had enough to share his findings with Uriel. Those findings would get them all of the information that they would need, well that and their other _prisoner._

* * *

 

The week ended, and they made their way into the interrogation room. It reeked of human waste and the iron scent of blood. Uriel’s nose flared a little as they entered. He turned to the guard at the door and said, “Get someone in here to clean up a bit. The smell’s too much for us.” He loudly dragged over a chair and the guard ran off to get some cleaning supplies. Dmitri took his usual seat.

“Back for more huh?” Lafitte muttered out from under the hood they had placed over his head. He didn’t move, but Dmitri could see the breaths Lafitte was taking as the hood puffed in and out in front of his face. He could see Lafitte’s fear in those breaths though Lafitte had done his best to control his displays of emotion. Dmitri knew that he was afraid and that the beatings and psychological torture were getting to him. He also knew though that he was nowhere near breaking. He was strong and it would take much to make him finally crack in a useful manner. They didn’t have long though. They had days. The trade negotiations went quickly, too quickly.

Today they’d bring in the secret weapon. The guard came back with a few other men and they cleaned the room quickly. The smell of bleach was almost too much as they splashed it over surfaces and then quickly mopped away the mess. In the midst of it all, Uriel said, “I think we’ll do things differently today, Lafitte.”

“Oh, really. You mean you don’t plan to break the rest of my fingers today?” Lafitte still had the cocky edge to his voice that he had on the first day. Dmitri noted it.

Uriel lifted the hood and set it on the floor at his side. “Today I require a list of names. I will need to know who the US has in the GDR and who is leading them.” The question was simple, and it was all that they really wanted from Lafitte.

Lafitte was silent at first and still. Then a smile crept up from the sides of his mouth and he spoke, “We’ve got Mickey Mouse at the train station. He’s always full of information. Best rat I know.” Uriel smiled and swiftly broke another of Lafitte’s fingers.

“You’ve got two fingers left for me, Mr. Lafitte. I want names, not jokes.” He got up then and walked to the door. He peered out and whispered to the guard there. He returned to the center of the room and moved a chair in front of Lafitte and moved his own chair farther away. “I knew you wouldn’t share though. It seems that you think you can outlast your time here.”

“We have Josef. You’ve been wanting him back with nothing to trade. I know my time here is short.”

Uriel settled into his chair again and reached over to the nearby table full of his most horrible instruments. He dragged the table over to his side and waited for Lafitte to imagine what was to come. “Trades can be stalled. I’m in no hurry.”

Lafitte laughed, “Sure, buddy. That’s why you shortened the time between the purely psychological break down of yours truly and the physical torture. By my reckoning, you shouldn’t have started pulling out the tools and breaking my fingers ‘til next week.”

Uriel smiled again. “It’s fascinating that you think that we treat all of our guests the same.” He got up and raked his hand back through Lafitte’s hair so that he could pull his head back and look down at him. “Maybe I just took one look at you, and I just had to start breaking you apart. Maybe I just don’t care about where this goes or what I learn so long as I get to crush you a little each day.” Uriel returned to his seat and smoothed his hands over his brown trousers.

“Unlikely.” Lafitte was tough. He wasn’t letting Uriel get to him. Dmitri heard the door open and watched Lafitte’s response. Lafitte didn’t look right away.

His face shot to the door though as soon as he heard the voice saying, “Oh, Benny what have they done to you?” Dmitri maintained his focus on Lafitte. His expression fell completely. Lost was the confident bravado that blanketed the man a moment before. Now there was just defeat washing over his eyes and face.

“No, Andrea.” The words fell from him in a dull whimper.

The guards pushed Andrea into the chair facing Lafitte and tied her arms down to the armrests. Then they tied her legs to the chair as well. She struggled a little until Uriel got up and slapped her loudly across the face. “Be still.” She stilled. Lafitte lunged a little toward him with a feral growl, but he couldn’t do anything, fastened as he was to the chair.

“I’ll kill you. I’ll come back here, and I’ll kill you if you lay as much as one hand on her.”

Uriel laughed. “I’ve already laid a hand on her.” He slapped her again and she seemed to suppress the scream a little that came with the impact. “See. You can’t do a thing.” Uriel touched Andrea’s fingers, tracing them gently. He came down low and looked at her closely. “You have beautiful hands. Do you play the piano?”

Andrea whimpered out, “A little.” She looked at Lafitte and said, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to leave you. I missed the train. I came back to our place to wait. They found me there. I’m so sorry, Benny.”

“Shh, shh. It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.” Lafitte turned his head to Uriel and said, “How does this play out?”

Uriel grabbed Andrea’s left hand and the sound of snapping bones filled the room. He smiled at Lafitte as he did so. Andrea screamed, tears streamed over her cheeks. Dmitri noted each moment in detail as it occurred. The sound of his pen scratching away on the paper was his only comfort. “We don’t need to be in any sort of hurry. I was just imagining all the fun we could have here, and now you want to go and end it.” Uriel turned to Andrea and said, “Nine more to go.” He breathed out close to her and added, “Then we can devise new ways to make you scream.”

“I’m sorry, Benny. I’m so sorry.” She was shaking and Dmitri had to admire the effort.

“Stop,” Benny yelled. “I have names.”

“That was too easy. Let me have my fun.” Uriel ran his hand over Andrea’s chest as he moved himself to the back of her chair. Benny glared at him with hatred. His face no longer the mask that it once was. _He was easily broken. Love does that._

“I’ll give you what you want. You just have to let her go. You just have to let her go with me. She’s part of the trade.”

“Oh, I don’t think that it’ll work that way. You Americans want everything to be in your favor. Here in Russia, we like to have a balance to what one receives. One of ours for one of yours. Seems rather unfair to send both of you home for just one of our men.”

“Then just send her home. I’ll be useless to them anyway. I’ll be compromised. Just send her home.” Lafitte sounded rather desperate now. Dmitri noted it.

Uriel hummed as if he was considering this. Dmitri knew better. He knew the secret. “What if they don’t want her? I mean, she’s just a nothing, a nobody.”

“Bobby will understand. He’ll make the deal for me.” Lafitte sucked in a deep shaking breath and added, “Please.”

“Who is Bobby? I only have dealings with the scrawny negotiator that goes by the name Lycaon.”

Lafitte looked like he was losing a battle, and his breathing was rough and labored. “He’s the director of our operations. We are a subset of the CIA. He tells us where to go, what to do.”

“I’ll need more.” Uriel squeezed Andrea’s breast and she whimpered but stayed otherwise silent.

Lafitte bit back a growl of rage. “Do we have a deal?”

Uriel released Andrea and looked steadily at Lafitte and said, “Give me the names of all of the players in the GDR and more about this,” his mouth curled up into a sneer, “Bobby, and we’ll see.” Uriel stepped back from Andrea and gave the guard a nod. “Take her to the room next door.”

“Andrea.” Lafitte’s voice was weak. “You’ll be okay. I’ll get you out.” The guards dragged her out of the room and Uriel took his place in front of the man.

“So, tell me everything.” Uriel smiled. Lafitte looked down at his feet and began telling Uriel everything.

* * *

 

Dmitri went home after the interrogation feeling shaken to his core. He knew that they’d get names, knew that this was the goal, but he did not know that the names would be familiar. He dropped his pen when the name Sam Winchester fell from Lafitte’s lips. Uriel noticed it and turned to him. Dmitri mouthed an _I’m sorry_ and proceeded to finish taking notes. Uriel had Lafitte describe his encounters with Sam and his role. Dmitri devoted all of his attention to the details. He noticed the way that Lafitte bit back his bottom lip as he described location drops and specific jobs. Dmitri knew from his own interactions with Sam that most of Lafitte’s words were true. He knew also that Lafitte was holding back. _Good._

When Uriel had asked about Bobby, Lafitte seemed less reticent, as if he knew that Bobby was safe and not capable of falling into their hands. He referred to him as Bobby only in the first sharing and later as Robert Singer. He told them about protocol and procedures that they hadn’t known about before, but they pretended otherwise.

Dmitri was afraid of what would come in the morning. He’d given them two names. He’d give up more the next day; he was certain of it. He tried to wrap his head around the situation. How could he get word to Sam about the leak? That was his primary concern. He had reason to believe that Sam was still in the GDR. He had reason to believe that he was there alone. MacLeod was told to alert him if Dean ever came into the country. He hadn’t been alerted in some months now.

He’d managed also to conduct most of his business with Sam without feeling the need for more than one or two face to face meetings. He made a decision then to seek him out, and to tell him what he knew. He’d have to be careful though. Something dark curled in his gut as he made the decision. This would be different. He would inevitably have to betray the very people that mattered most to him in this wretched place.

* * *

 

The cafe was full to bursting. Young people were in the booths and hanging out along the wall of windows that faced out to the street. Dmitri waited, drank his coffee, and hoped that this would not be the day that Sam Winchester changed his routines. He was not disappointed. He had a seat in the back that afforded him a view of the front of the diner, but shielded him from most of the other booths. Sam approached the hostess stand and put his name on a list for a seat. Dmitri waved over a waitress. He pointed at Sam casually and said, “Would you mind telling my friend there that I already have a booth and that he should join me.”

The waitress smiled and went off to do just that. Sam glanced at him, and he nodded. Sam made his way to the booth, hand falling to his side, likely where he kept his gun. Dmitri kept his hands on the table where Sam could see them and be eased by their presence. “Did we have an appointment?” Sam asked in Russian.

“No, but some things have occurred that I felt you needed to know about.” Dmitri waved at the bench opposite his own and said, “Have a seat.”

Sam complied. “I’ve not yet received word that your family has made it to their destination.”

“I assumed that. It will be many weeks for them, I’m sure.” Dmitri picked up his coffee and took a drink. “Will you be eating anything?” He started to wave for the waitress without waiting for an answer.

She approached and had her pad ready. “What can I get for you?”

“Coffee and toast.” Sam looked back at Dmitri. “Thanks,” he added on at the end, and she departed. “So, what is this little meeting about?”

“We have one of your men, a Mr. Lafitte.” Dmitri set down his coffee and moved a hand under the table. He subtly passed a small roll of paper into Sam’s hand there. He moved his hand back up to the table and waited. “What you need to know is in there. It is in code, but I believe that breaking it is within your skillset.”  


“What is this?” Sam did not look down. He kept his hazel eyes alert and focused on the man in front of him.

“Names. We have broken Lafitte. He has given us the names of those embedded within the GDR. Your name was on the list.”

“Oh, Benny.”

“Yes, as you must know he’s been in our custody for nearly two weeks now.”

“Why would he tell?”

“We have acquired his girlfriend. She was a powerful motivator. Regardless, he has asked that the negotiations for his release cease, and that the negotiations will now focus on her. I’m certain that none of this has reached you yet.” Before he spoke, Dmitri had made choices, what to share, who to betray. He held out. There were things he knew, that he wasn’t saying. Though he couldn’t let harm come to Sam or Dean, he also couldn’t give up his friends.

Sam shook his head and said, “He’s the last one that I thought would break. I mean, he’s strong, focused, loyal.”

“We have broken stronger men than him.”

“So, why tell me?” Sam was observing him, looking for a tell. Dmitri recognized the scrutiny as he did the same when he worked interrogations with Uriel.

“I owe you for your efforts where my family is concerned. I’ve shown, I think, through our past encounters that I am not loyal. I’ll seek you out in the next week if there is more to share. For now, be careful Sam Winchester. You’re a marked man.”

“So you are saving me because I’ve proven useful before and will be in the future?”

Dmitri’s lip ticked up into a half grin. “I also admire your ethics. You seem to have a moral compass, which is uncommon for men in our field.”

Sam smiled back a little. “How much time do I have to act on this?” He let his eyes bounce to the table then back.

“Not much. I wouldn’t be surprised if you pick up a follower soon. It is why I had to meet with you now. One day more would be a risk.” He glanced at the window at the crowd outside. “You should plan to leave.”

“No, I’m staying. I will just have to adjust my cover. I’ve done it before, and I have some methods that Lafitte is wholly unaware of.” Sam smiled and the waitress returned with his toast and coffee. He took a couple of bites and washed it down with a gulp of coffee.

“How shall we connect in the days to come?”

“It seems that I’m not the only one cataloguing the routines of my contacts.” Sam drank down the remainder of his coffee and said, “You get the paper each morning near Alexanderplatz.”

Dmitri felt his muscles clench up a little at the knowledge that Sam had known of his routines. “I did not know that I was being watched.”

“Just by me. I make it my business to know who I’m working with. I also may have hoped that we could cut out MacLeod. I tend to find working with him a bit distasteful.”

“On this we can both agree. He has proven useful, but I often fear that his own interests will trump mine if ever the two come into conflict.” Dmitri remembered the look on MacLeod’s face as he raked his eyes over Dean like something he’d like to eat up for dinner.

Sam nodded and got up, tossing down a few bills to cover the meal. He reached out and shook Dmitri’s hand. “I’ll be in touch.”

Dmitri nodded and Sam departed.

* * *

 

The week passed, and each day Lafitte gave them more information. He was proving too useful. Dmitri found ways of getting the details to Sam. He placed the information in the newspaper that he was perusing at the stand and then returned it to pick up a different paper. Sam would buy the paper and find the microdot affixed to the third page. He thought that it would be possible to just tell him the names, but there were things that Lafitte shared in the interrogation that did not make sense to him. It seemed best to just pass on all of the notes.

The negotiations for the trade were done, and now they only had days to wait it out. The trade would happen in a neutral area between the borders. Uriel came to his desk late in the afternoon the day before the trade was to take place. “I’m supposed to move our prisoner to the long term cells. Thought maybe you’d like to do this instead.”

Dmitri tipped his head a bit to contemplate the change in procedure. He’d taken plenty of prisoners to the cells beneath Teplyakova’s office, but this was usually Uriel’s task. “Why?”

“Come walk with me.” Uriel moved from Dmitri’s desk for the door and Dmitri followed.

When they were outside and a hundred yards from the office, Uriel said, “I’m worried about you. I think this job is getting to you.”

Dmitri looked to him, and saw the stiff muscles of his jaw flex tighter. “I’m fine.”

“Really?” Uriel came to a stop and looked down at him. He was a little taller, but not much. Still Dmitri felt himself shrinking under the look. “You’ve lost your mother and sister, and now you have to sit in on interrogations that you’ve never enjoyed.”

“One is not meant to enjoy interrogations. They are necessary for our goals. They are not entertainment.” Dmitri stopped walking and added, “As to my mourning, I have not allowed that to impact my work.”

“True. You’ve been quite exceptional. Teplyakova has said that the information that we’ve received from Lafitte coupled with your notes will aid us greatly. Lives will be saved. You’ve done well my friend.”

Dmitri allowed himself to smile at that. “Thank you.”  


“Still, we all occasionally need to be reminded of the need for loyalty.”

Dmitri’s smile fell. “Has there been any reason to doubt my loyalty?”

Uriel settled a hand on his shoulder. “I noticed that you dropped your pen the other day.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You never get rattled, not even a little. I noticed. I think that you care about the people that we interrogate. I think that you are loyal, but I think that you also feel something for them. This one, Lafitte, has rattled you. I feel that you need to be the one to see him off. Be reminded what comes of having too much heart in this game we play.”

“I’ve never allowed my feeling to sway my loyalty. I’ve given everything to mother Russia, and you doubt me. I’ve lost my family. I have no one but my country. Russia has everything that is in me. I am hers.”

Uriel let his shoulder go and said, “I believe you.” They began walking back to the office. When they got to the door he added, “Just the same, you’ll take Lafitte to Teplyakova’s office tomorrow.”

* * *

 

He felt the sweat building up in his palms. He wiped them off casually on his trousers and tried to focus on his paperwork. He would retrieve Lafitte and lead him into the lion’s den. Then Andrea would be taken to the exchange. He didn’t like what was to come. He didn’t like the way that it would feel, watching Lafitte drift into the dark for however long he’d remain. The American’s wouldn’t fight for him. They had not captured anyone worth trading. Lafitte would just rot away for however long it took for him to die. He hoped that it wouldn’t be long.

He glanced up at the clock and saw that it was time. He pushed himself back from the desk and up to his feet. He moved with deliberate steps down the long echoing hall and down the stairs. The guard let him in. Lafitte was ready, his hands already cuffed behind him. “So they sent the silent one to fetch me, how nice.” He wasn’t bloody anymore, and his fingers had been set. Dmitri wondered why they had bothered. It had made Lafitte only marginally more cooperative, but it seemed unnecessary.

“Come with me,” Dmitri said, and he reached out to Lafitte’s back. “We’re moving you to a different room while the exchange is happening. Also, the director wishes to speak with you.” This was the standard explanation. It ensured that Lafitte wouldn’t fight them. They made their way to Teplyakova’s office and Dmitri opened the door. Lafitte entered. Dmitri directed him to a seat and stood behind him.

Teplyakova templed his fingers under his chin and said, “I’m pleased with all that you’ve shared with us these past several days.”

Lafitte stiffened and gripped the edges of the seat. “I wish that you had given me a choice.” He sucked in a deep breath. “Will Andrea be traded tonight?”

“Yes, it is all set. You were right about the direction that the negotiations would take. They were fine with the change.” Teplyakova got up and moved to the bookshelf. He ran his fingers over the spines gently, like a caress of affection for old friends. “It will be good to have Josef returned to us.” He pulled out a book and the shelf popped open. He looked back at Lafitte. He pulled the shelf back and beckoned to them to approach. “Come, come. We haven’t got all day.”

Dmitri reached down and helped Lafitte to his feet. He moved him along toward the bookshelf that was now a doorway to something darker. Lafitte didn’t speak. He moved though as if confused. Teplyakova set a hand on Dmitri’s shoulder. “Do you wish for me to lead him in?”

“That will be necessary,” Teplyakova said. “There is a man at the foot of the stairs who will assist you.” Dmitri had not been asked to move anyone all the way into the space. Normally someone would meet them at the top of the stairs. He moved Lafitte toward the stairs with a hand at his back.

“Go in,” he said to the back of him, and Lafitte moved into the darkness. They made their way down the stairs with only the light from Teplyakova’s office to guide them. When they reached the bottom, it was so dark that he thought that he might not be able to go on.

Lafitte said, “How far will we be going.” Dmitri pushed him a little to the left, and they moved into the darkness still farther.

“A little farther.” They got ten steps in and a light came on. It was dull and did little to truly illuminate the space. Dmitri could hear the door at the top of the stairs click shut and something about that frightened him. _What if they know? What if this was a means of getting me down here too?_ He dropped his hand from Lafitte’s back and waited. The man that seemed to be in charge of the space took Lafitte roughly by the arm and lead him away. They disappeared into the darkness.

Dmitri could hear the distant sounds of terror, the low moans of misery. This was a place of suffering and from it there was usually no escape. The walls were a dirty off white. He reached out to one to keep himself anchored. The guard returned. “You’re still here?”

“I didn’t know if I would be needed further.” Dmitri looked back at the stairs.

The man laughed, a huge belly roll of a laugh. “Uriel never stays. Don’t see why you would.”

Dmitri wasn’t sure what to do next. He asked, “Do I go back up the stairs?”

“Of course. Unless you want to spend more time with them.” He laughed again and nodded over his shoulder toward the darkness that had swallowed up Lafitte.

Dmitri moved back to the stairs and tossed back a question. “What’ll happen to him in here?”

The man smiled. “Nothing.” Dmitri turned back to the stairs and climbed to the surface. He settled a hand on the cold door that was separating him from the light. He gave it a push and it opened.

Teplyakova was sitting back at his desk. He did not look up, but said, “He is taken care of now?” There was a question to the tone.

“Yes, sir.” Dmitri moved to the door.

“Please, have a seat.” Teplyakova motioned to the seat that Lafitte had sat in just moments before.

“Sir?” Teplyakova looked up at him then, and the look seemed like one that he should not question. He took a seat.

“We have not uncovered any more information regarding the deaths of both your mother and your sister. I thought that you’d like to know this.”

 _Oh, this is personal._ “Thank you. I still wish to see them, but I understand if that is not possible.”

Teplyakova steepled his hands again under his chin. He leveled a look on Dmitri that seemed to be one that he gave to Lafitte before. He felt like Teplyakova was trying to read him. He did his best not to give away any emotions. “Their remains will be kept in Moscow until you can be spared for their funerals. At that time, you may see them. I do not recommend it.”

“You’ve seen them?” Dmitri had thought that Teplyakova had been in the GDR since the “accident.”

“Pictures were sent to me. I reviewed them.” He set his hands down on the desk. “Any attack on the family members of my agents is an attack on Russia. It will not be taken lightly.”

“May I see the pictures?” Dmitri squirmed a bit in his seat. “I just need to know, need to see them. I can’t explain it.” He thought that it was a reasonable response to the circumstances.

“You may not at this time.” It bothered him that the scene had been photographed and that it was receiving such scrutiny. He wanted it to just be accepted. He worried about the many things that they could uncover. His mother and sister were safe though. He could deal with anything so long as they were safe. Teplyakova said, “Your mother was also an asset to our cause. Her death is a tragedy that we won’t likely recover from.” He waved a hand at the door and said, “You are dismissed.”

Dmitri left, but he felt shaken by all that he had seen. The darkness beneath the office. The low noises of desperation and suffering that echoed through the space all combined to form a pit of terror in his stomach. He knew that he’d have to find a way out, a way to get to America or elsewhere. He considered his options and found himself considering Sam again and what he might be able to do to help.

Uriel joined him at his desk and said, “Are you okay?”

“I’m going to be.” He thought that he needed to be a little less flippant with his communications with Uriel. Clearly the man was communicating his own observations with Teplyakova. He added, “I’ll get to see to the funeral arrangements soon. That should provide me with some closure.”

“Are you ready to accompany me to the exchange?”

“I am.” Dmitri got up and put on his coat. “Is the prisoner ready?”

Uriel laughed, “Yeah, quite.” They went down the hall to retrieve Andrea. Uriel opened the door to her room and smiled. “You ready?”

She got up from her couch and set aside the magazine she was reading. She smiled back and moved toward him. “Of course.” She kissed Uriel lightly on the cheek and said, “Took you long enough. Thought I’d have to go exchange myself.” She looped an arm through his and tossed a glance at Dmitri.

She let go of Uriel and moved to Dmitri. She gave him a quick hug. He hugged her back. She and Uriel had been his closest companions for some time. He worried over what was to come. She’d been working toward this level for some time. Now she was being traded to the US for one of their own. She’d be even more on the inside, or so they hoped. It only took a year with Lafitte to get her connected. They were proud of her here at the office.

Dmitri walked along with her between himself and Uriel. “How’s your finger doing?” She slipped her arm out of Uriel’s and gave him a shove.

“I almost forgave you too.” She pouted at him.

“Thanks, Dmitri.” Uriel laughed. “You know it wasn’t enough for me to just hit you. He had to really believe it.” He took her hand and placed a delicate kiss on her knuckle. “It was a clean break, and it’ll heal up nicely. Promise.”

“It certainly snapped like it wasn’t. Poor Benny. He looked so sad.”

“You aren’t feeling sympathy for him now are you?” Uriel was still smiling as they headed into the garage. They would take one of the sedans to the exchange.

“Jealous?” She laughed back at him. They got into the car and Uriel set to work making her look more like a prisoner. He lowered a hood over her head and tied her arms behind her.

“I’ve never been jealous in my whole life. Ask Dmitri. He’ll back me up.”

Dmitri nodded but then realized that she couldn’t hear that and said, “Yeah, Uriel doesn’t really have emotions.”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” Uriel said and they all laughed as the driver pulled out of the garage and took them to the exchange. Dmitri concentrated on the low rumble of the ground beneath the tires. They all fell silent, knowing that much was dependant on this exchange’s success. The things that Andrea could uncover were incomprehensible. Dmitri worried about that. He had not told Sam anything, and he might have to live with the regret that would come from that decision.

* * *

 

Weeks passed. The names that came from Lafitte included Sam Winchester, Robert Singer, and Dean Winchester among others. Lafitte had not mentioned Dean until the end as if he was trying to save him from something, as if he thought that he might be able to keep from sharing his name. It was likely that Lafitte thought that he had already revealed Dean’s involvement by just revealing Sam. He wasn’t likely wrong if he thought that, but Dmitri couldn’t help but to lose some of his sympathy for the man that had betrayed Dean. At night though, the nightmares came. He saw Lafitte’s face as he moved off into the dark, into the long hall that would hold him until he died.

He felt sympathy again when his mind drifted back to that place. No one deserved what would happen to him there. He was sitting on the bench across from the newsstand. Sam hadn’t shown up yet again. A man sat on the bench next to him. Dmitri considered getting up and leaving, but he didn’t. He still hoped that somehow, Sam would show. The man next to him on the bench scooted closer. Dmitri looked at him and frowned. He got up and would have left, but the old man reached over to him and grabbed his arm. “Wait.”

Dmitri sat back down and tried not to stare. “Sam?”

“Yes.” Sam let him go. “You keep giving up too easily. I was here yesterday, and you left before I could talk to you.”

Dmitri smiled a little and said, “You do know that you look nothing like you did?”

“Kind of the point.” Sam smiled back and even his teeth were different. “I’ve passed the names on to my connections in the states.”

“I’ve been needing to get to you all week.”

“Okay.”

Sam seemed to be quite comfortable in his disguise. Dmitri was having trouble reconciling Sam’s look with his voice. “I do not think that Lafitte will survive long in our care. Do your people have any plans for a trade or a rescue attempt?”

“We’ve tried negotiation. We just don’t have anyone that your leaders seem interested in.”

“Yes, but what if I could help with that?”

“I don’t see how.” Sam stared at him like he could see clear to his reasoning.

“I could perhaps manipulate a situation,” Dmitri looked around as if he might be overheard. “I can steer you toward one of ours that you can use for a trade.”

Sam looked rather surprised. “Really?”

“Yes.” He hadn’t decided firmly yet, who he could betray, but he had some options.

“I haven’t got a name for you yet, or any specifics, but if you give me a few days.”

“I can do that. We can meet here again in say,” Sam seemed to consider some internal schedule before finishing, “three days.”

“I’ll be here.”

“Just so you know, Dmitri, I’m already working on getting you out.”

“My death has to be arranged. I can’t just leave. They’ll track me, and I’ll mysteriously die from a heart attack that’s not a heart attack. To be honest with you, I don’t think that my escape is possible. Believing the deaths of my mother and sister is one thing. For me to somehow have an accident too, would certainly cause suspicion. So I suppose that it might be best for you to direct your attentions to more important missions. Don’t do anything on my behalf that might compromise what is already in place for my family.” Dmitri moved to leave again. “I’ll be in touch about the rest.”

Sam stayed seated on the bench and said, “Thanks.” Dmitri nodded and left.

* * *

 

He followed Sam, learned his routines and patterns. He hadn’t been able to choose someone to betray. It had been more complicated than just sharing a name and location. So he did nothing. He and Sam chose another day to meet, but Dmitri could tell that it was frustrating to Sam that he had offered up no information.

He wondered if Sam knew that he was being watched. Dmitri felt like he was being careful, but Sam seemed to have a bit of skill when it came to his work that Dmitri did not possess. He knew of Dmitri’s routines and perhaps even some of his other secrets. He sat now just outside a small park near their facility staring at the building that Sam had entered some hours before.

Work had been slow of late, so he could justify long lunches like this where he followed Sam. He hadn’t anticipated the company though. “Mind if I join you?” Uriel took a seat at his side before he could even respond.

Dmitri schooled his expression into something akin to pleasure. “You got through your processing paperwork, I see.”

“Yes, and I intend to dive right in where this one’s concerned. Thought I’d come find you and show you the car first.” They’d captured some men who had been attempting a crossing at Check-point Charlie. Why they’d chosen this route was beyond Dmitri’s comprehension, but here they were. They’d gone to great lengths too, if the tales of the car were to be believed.

Dmitri got up, wrapping the remainder of his sandwich up as he did so. “Is it as strange as everyone was saying?”

“The car is at the least interesting.” He reached out and closed a hand around Dmitri’s wrist. “Sit with me a bit. We don’t have to go back immediately.”

Dmitri complied. He searched for something conversational to toss into their silence. “Have you heard from Andrea?”

“Obviously not. It’s far too soon.” He looked at Dmitri though with a softer expression blanketing his face. “Has Teplyakova given you time to go attend to the funerals?”

“You know he hasn’t. I thought that it would be soon. We haven’t been particularly busy.”

Uriel reached over and gave Dmitri’s leg a pat. “I bet it will be soon.” He looked straight ahead at the building that held Sam. He turned back to Dmitri. “What have you been doing with your free time of late?”

The question was innocent enough on the surface, but Dmitri read the deeper parts. Uriel had been following him, or at the least tracking some of his routines. He considered possible lies: I wanted a change of scenery, I wanted to grieve for my mother and sister, I wanted to just get away. All could work, but he feared the tells he’d give. He was not feeling particularly ready for the lies. So he told the truth. “I realized recently that I have routines that are easily discerned. I thought that perhaps others were just as predictable as me. So each day I watch people, and record their routines.”

“To what end?”

“The routines of people around our facility matter. If one deviates much from the routine, or if someone new is introduced to the area, I will notice it from having made this effort. Also, deviations from the normal patterns could signal trouble.” He took a breath and added, “It’s just a weird hobby.”

“Weird is right. But also useful. Maybe.” This time he got up and lead the way back to the facility. Dmitri cast a glance back at the building hoping that his truth would not garner extra attention or thought later.

* * *

 

Uriel had been right. The car had been interesting. It had been modified so that a small person could be wedged into the engine compartment. The wheel wells had also been modified to hold people. He wondered if the car had been used successfully before. The man that they would question this afternoon would be able to answer that question.

What Dmitri didn’t expect was the ease with which Uriel would extract his information. He was used to the tougher souls. They normally dealt with agents, captured in the field. This man was a civilian, just trying to escape, but he knew things, people of import. He knew Sam.

When he dropped Sam’s name and where they met, Dmitri knew that Sam was in immediate danger. He had been tracking him. He knew that the meeting place was still part of his routine. He had watched him meet with other desperate men and women in that place. He knew that he had to tell him.

He bided his time. He even went back to his desk to write up the report on the interrogation. It was a simple thing. Uriel came to his desk just before six and asked if he was done. “I think so.” He passed the report to Uriel, who gave it a cursory scan.

“Looks good. I think I’m gonna go home and think about how I’ll deal with this Sam Winchester fellow.” He waved as he left the office. Dmitri waved back.

He gathered his satchel and papers with some speed and rushed out into the early evening. Sam’s patterns would take him to the newsstand in the evening just one more time. If he missed him there, he’d have to follow him to the small flat that he was occupying. The newsstand was deserted. Dmitri looked at his wristwatch and saw that it was later than he’d realized.

He moved down the street thinking he’d intercept him enroute. His building loomed up ahead. Dmitri cast a glance around him, and seeing no one, he slipped into the doorway. The hall was dark, and the one hanging light at the far end flickered eerily. Dmitri knew which door was Sam’s and took the direct route to it. He knocked, expecting to be ignored. A flicker of light at the peephole told him that Sam had looked out at him. The door opened. Sam had his gun.

“What’re you doing here?” He sounded nervous. He even spoke in English.

Dmitri pushed past him into the flat and Sam closed the door behind him. “Your cover has been compromised. You’ll need to leave immediately. We captured a man that was attempting defection. He did not hold anything back.”

“Shit.” Sam began gathering a few items. “How long do I have?”

“They’ll be here for you tomorrow, in the morning.” Dmitri stood in the middle of the room, surveying the few items that Sam had accumulated.

A knock at the door shocked them out of their moment. Sam moved to Dmitri’s side and whispered, “Were you followed?”

He thought about it for a moment and said, “I would have to say yes.” Sam tapped his arm and motioned to the bathroom. Dmitri motioned toward the window as an escape.

Sam just shook his head again and this time pulled Dmitri toward the bathroom. “Have a plan.”

The bathroom was oddly shaped. It was like an L, the smaller part of which housed the toilet and a garbage can. Sam took off a shoe and set it in that space so that the toe of it stuck out a little. He told Dmitri with a glance to get into the tub. He pulled the curtain around him. Sam tucked himself back against the wall nearest the door. He’d only be hidden there until whoever was following them came into the room.

The front door to the flat opened with the sounds of great force being utilized. They remained silent. Sam had his gun drawn and held down in front of him. Dmitri moved his hand into his jacket to remove his own gun. _Should have been more careful._ He began berating himself. The creak of footsteps stopped just outside the bathroom. The door was wide open, providing a view of the shoe. “Come out.” Dmitri recognized the voice. _Damnit Uriel, why?_ Uriel stepped into the room clearly focused on the spot that he thought was occupied. His gun was raised, but he didn’t get to use it.

Sam used his. He raised it up high and brought it down hard on the back of Uriel’s head. He fell in a heap at Sam’s feet. Dmitri got out of the tub. “Damnit.”

“You know him?”

“Yes, he and I are friends.” Dmitri sunk back down to the side of the tub. Sam reached down and rolled Uriel over.

“Is he a civilian friend or a work friend?” Sam watched his face presumably for a tell.

“Work. He is an interrogator, and now he knows that I am compromised.”

Sam reached under his sink and pulled out some handcuffs that he fastened to Uriel’s wrists. He had some rope in there too that he he used on his legs. “Guess he might work for a trade then right?”

Dmitri shook his head to gain focus. “What do you mean?”

“I’ll haul him in, and we’ll use him to get Benny out. This’ll maybe buy you a little more time. I’ll be able to get you out before he returns. Although, he never did see you come in here. He might not know.”

“He knows. It is what Uriel does. He knows things, or he figures things out.”  He reached down and settled a hand on Uriel’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.” He stood back up with a nod at Sam. “My people would certainly negotiate for him.”

“Good.” Sam waved at the door behind him. “Get going. I’ll take care of this myself.”

Dmitri edged past him to the other room before stopping. “You sure?”

“Yes. I’ll be in touch. Might be a while though.” With that Dmitri turned and went. The exchange would happen, Lafitte would be free, and he would have to live with betraying his friend.


	5. Chapter 5

“Tell me more about Lafitte’s interrogation,” Dean said as he sat across from Krushnic. He had his notebook out and was keeping track of Krushnic’s stories in it.

“We learned of him early on. He was a wealth of information without even realizing what he was doing. When he’d go out, Andrea would report to us. She’d follow him and share when he made a drop or when he was meeting with someone. We would have kept on with him, but you had captured Josef, and we knew that we’d need a big player to get him back. So, we took Lafitte.”

“He’d made arrangements for Andrea to come to the States. He told us that he was worried about his cover and that he thought that they should both come back for a time. Everything was in place. She was supposed to be back here. I even went to the port to pick her up, but she never showed.”

“Yes, that was part of the plan. When Uriel tortured him, Lafitte believed that Andrea was safe at home. He was prepared to maintain his silence as long as she was okay. After we broke him down, we brought her in. Uriel made a show of beating her, all superficial. It was enough though. Lafitte caved, told us to make arrangements for Andrea to be traded instead of him. Then he shared everything we ever wanted to know. We got contacts and locations. Everything.” Krushnic looked a little remorseful.

Dean said, “This was why you went to Sam. This was how the list was made, with Agent Singer’s name and Sam’s?”

“Yes, your name wasn’t dropped at first, but yes. It’s how we knew about Singer.”

“Why take such a risk. I mean, the chances of them finding out where the leak was coming from seem pretty high. It was just the three of you that knew the information.” Dean moved the end of the pen to his mouth and chewed on it a little as he thought about the situation.

“Sam was worthy of the risk, as were the others that Lafitte betrayed.” Krushnic’s gaze hardened.

“It wasn’t betrayal. He was manipulated.”

“He didn’t have to cave so easily or so thoroughly.”

Dean thought about that. “What would you have done if someone you loved was going to be tortured by Uriel?”

Krushnic stared at him and said, “I would be smart about it. I would use my training. I’d share little harmless details or I’d pretend to be something less than what I was. I’d bide my time and find a way to handle the situation with intelligence.”

“It sounds like Benny didn’t have that option.” Dean closed the notebook and tapped the pen on the cover.

“There are always options. Lafitte just didn’t think. He inevitably put your life, Sam’s life, and Agent Singer’s life well beneath his own and Andrea’s.”

“He didn’t value his own life over ours. He would have gone through hell and back if it was just him. It was for Andrea. And yeah, she didn’t deserve such loyalty, but I’ll be damned if I’m gonna sit here and listen to you saying that he is some sort of selfish ass for sacrificing us for her.” Dean got up and stalked over toward the door, but he didn’t leave. He took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry. I know he’s your friend,” Krushnic offered up in the quiet that came once Dean stopped talking.

“You’ve never loved someone have you?” Dean didn’t know why it mattered. He didn’t know why he needed to make this point. It was about Benny though, and though he had felt betrayed at first, he had understood it. He knew what it was to love someone in a flash, and to lose someone in the dark. He knew what it felt like to be consumed by the thought of someone. So to trivialize what Benny had felt and what he had done, felt personal to him.

“I have.” Dmitri’s words were quiet, and they made Dean turn back to him.

“Tell me about it.” Dean came back to the table and sat down. He pushed aside the notebook to show that this wasn’t a conversation like the others.

“It hardly matters.” Dmitri waved a hand between them and looked off at the window near the ceiling that afforded no view. It was bright though with morning sunlight.

“Humor me.” Dean smiled. “I feel like it might be nice to know something of you that isn’t just tied up with torture and,” he paused for a breath, “the life.”

Krushnic let out a small snort of a laugh and looked back at Dean. “It was likely one-sided, but maybe not. We met in the war. I won’t go into details. There was a connection. Intense, life-threatening situations will do that to you. I was young and idealistic. It didn’t hurt that the object of my affections was aesthetically pleasing beyond compare.” Krushnic eyes drifted down to his hands. Dean watched him, noting the tenderness that seemed to blanket him as he spoke. “We were separated near the end of the war.” Krushnic’s accent made his words seem even rougher.

“Why didn’t you go find her after the war was done, settle down, have some tiny Krushnics?” Dean interrupted.

Krushnic looked at him steadily, his eyes seemed almost black past his thick lashes. Dean felt a pool of attraction swirling up in his stomach. He pushed it aside and remembered to breathe. Then Krushnic said, “We are very similar Mr. Winchester. I think that neither of us was made for a traditional life.”

Dean didn’t break the gaze, but wondered what it was that Krushnic thought he was seeing in him. “So you never looked her up?”

“I looked and chose to leave it all at that.” Krushnic looked away and then seemed to focus on his hands folded on the table in front of him again.

“She moved on?” Dean didn’t know why he kept pushing. There was something there though, something Krushnic wasn’t sharing, and he just wanted to know it.

“No, not really. I just knew that I’d be a burden. The life I live, the person I am…” He sighed again and looked up at Dean. “It was for the best.”

“Seems like she shoulda had a say in that.” Dean got up again and moved to the door to leave. Krushnic muttered something too quiet to hear. Dean turned to him. “What was that?”

“Nothing.” He looked at Dean past those dark lashes with eyes so blue Dean thought he’d get lost in them if he kept staring. “Maybe someday you’ll understand if you ever fall in love with someone.”

“Don’t assume.” Dean grabbed the door handle to leave and added, “Been there and lost it. Wish I’d gotten the chance to do something with it. In the end, I just got to be miserable and alone, ‘cause someone else decided to be impossible to find.” He opened the door and left thinking he had made his point. He didn’t see the look on Krushnic’s face or the way his words seemed to move him once the door had closed.

* * *

 

Dean had time, so he went to see Benny in the hospital which was conveniently not far from their facility. It was hot out, and the sun was drawing out the sweat from him within minutes of his walk. Somehow he thought that it was necessary to see Benny, to get a little glimpse into his mind before they locked up Andrea. He wouldn’t tell him anything, wouldn’t even hint at it. He just needed to go there. Call it loyalty. Call it what you will. He just needed to dot some I’s and cross some T’s.

The hospital was for convalescence. Benny had been there since he had returned home. He’d been rather incoherent when they’d first gotten him back. This was a problem that had lasted long after his physical wounds had seemed to heal. Bobby had placed a guard at the hospital, fearing that someone might finish Benny off, or that he might end things himself. Dean feared what would happen if he learned of Andrea’s betrayal. _Maybe he doesn’t have to know._ He hoped that they’d be able to keep it from him.

He mounted the steps two at a time, ready to get out of the sun and shed some layers. The halls were long and narrow. The nurse at the check-in window knew him, and let him just sign in without a word. He made his way to the end of the hall and the room that they had selected for him. It gave Benny a vast view of the gardens and the fountain in the courtyard.

Benny was sitting up in the bed staring out at the world when Dean walked in. “Heya, Benny.” Dean put on a tone of joviality and strode into the room.

“Hey yourself, brother,” Benny smiled at him. Today looked like it would be a coherent day. He nodded to the chair next to him, and Dean took a seat.

“Hope we haven’t all bombarded you with too much company today.”

Benny laughed, “Am I dying or something? Haven’t had this much company in ages.”

“Nah, guess we all just had a lot going on and felt like we needed to see you.” Dean ran a hand up into his hair, not knowing where to go from there.

Thankfully Benny directed his course. “Bobby said Sam’ll be back soon.”

“We think we’re a month out. No solid date yet, but it’s enough to feel hopeful over.” Dean smiled with the thought of finally getting Sam back safe and sound.

Benny’s eyes darted away to the window. He gripped the sheets at this sides. Then just as calmly as his words were before, he said, “I’m sorry, Dean. I’m sorry I did this to you. Don’t even know why you’re talking to me.”

Dean leaned forward a little and whispered, “It wasn’t you that did this, buddy. It was them. They fucked this up and you got to pay the piper for it. I don’t blame you one bit.” Dean set a hand on Benny’s arm and added, “You hear me?” Benny just nodded. “Good.”

“It’s gonna be bad for Sam when he gets home. Are you ready to deal with that?”

Dean leaned back and closed his eyes a second. He sucked in a deep lungful of air and said, “No, I’m really not. Truth be told, I just want to get him home. Whatever else happens, we’ll just deal with it as it comes up. Can’t worry about the stuff I can’t control.”

“Maybe it won’t be as bad. They won’t put him in the pit at least.”

Dean tipped his head a little at this. In all the time that they had spent together, the information that Benny had given had mostly concerned his time in the interrogations, not the time after. He never lasted long in conversations. He’d become incoherent or start shutting down. “You never talked to us about the pit.”

Benny seemed to shrink in on himself a little, and Dean almost regretted pursuing it. Then Benny said, “They sent Andrea back here in the trade, and then they had no more use for me. They had this guy that use to sit in on the interrogations. He’d take notes and stuff. He led me into an office. I thought that I was just going in to talk to their leader or something like that.” Dean could see the way the story was affecting him. He put out his hand to steady Benny. “I’m okay.”

“Maybe, but you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” Dean gave his arm a squeeze for good measure.

“I want to, I just feel it all again.” He squeezed his hands into fists at his sides. “There was no light in there, no windows to the outside. I think we were deep underground. I don’t even know how they found me in there. We lived like rats. There were others. Some were chained to the walls near the entrance in small alcoves. The walls were wet, like we were near some underground river or something. It made everything moldy. If you didn’t have a cough, it meant you were dead. Stuff got in your lungs.”

“I remember how bad that was for you when we got you home. They said you had pneumonia among other things.” Dean kept his hand on Benny, anchoring him to the moment.

“After a while you lost track of time. Those of us that weren’t chained to the wall fought for what little food was tossed to us in the dark. I killed men in there. I’m sure of it. My hands were sticky with their blood. I think there were women in there too. I heard a scream once, and I thought maybe…” He trailed off, his eyes glossing over like he was there again, seeing, or rather not seeing as he had back then.

“You’re here now Benny. You’re home.”

“You’d never know a place like that existed. One minute I was in that office. The next the quiet man was leading me past the bookcase, down the hidden stairs, into the darkness.”

“Did you ever try to escape?”

Benny looked at him then, really looked at him and said, “Others tried. They mowed them down the moment they got close to the gate. I thought about it. It would be a good way to die. I think some did chose to escape that way. I’d have done it if I’d been there much longer.”

“I’m sorry we weren’t faster. We should have gotten you out first. We shouldn’t have changed the exchange up.” Dean felt the regret and remorse pounding in his chest.

“I don’t regret that. Andrea wouldn’t have survived that.” Benny looked sincere, and Dean felt pain with that admission too.

“I should get going.” Dean got up. “I might not be back in for a long time. I’ve gotta take care of some things for Sam’s exchange, but as soon as I get back, I’ll be here.”

Benny reached out to him, and Dean dipped in, giving him a hug. “Take care of yourself, Dean.”

“I will.” Dean stepped back and said, “You do the same.” Benny nodded and Dean left the room.

* * *

 

If he was quick enough, he’d get back in time for the meeting with Andrea. He was angry and saddened all at once. He was ready to lock her up, trade her off in an instant, but Benny would suffer for it. It bothered him that he’d be the cause of that. He got off the bus at the corner and saw the office in the distance. It was a small walk from the stop to the entrance.

Something was wrong. He could hear the noise of it even at this distance. The popping noise of gunfire. He ran for the building. He looked up as the glass from one of the windows blasted out onto the street below. He ran inside the dark building. The gunfire was coming from upstairs where their offices were. The prisoners were held on the level below ground. The first floor was mostly a big empty space and a stairwell next to an elevator. He looked up at the numbers. They weren’t moving. Dean ripped open the door to the stairwell, gun drawn and ran up.

He could hear shouting. Someone was screaming for help. He slammed open the door to the second floor and moved in, crouched low as he moved. He made his way toward Bobby’s office. K was screaming for help. He moved to her. “What happened?” She was holding Bobby in her lap. Blood was pumping from his chest.

Dean took off his suit jacket and wadded it up. “She just shot him and shot at anyone that came toward her.”

“Where’d she go?” Dean shook her to snap her out of her panic. “Come on K.”

K looked past him toward the hall. “That way.” Her voice was a whisper.

“Move him behind the desk. Keep the jacket pressed to his wound. We’ll save him.” He pulled out a second gun from his holster and handed it to her. “Take this. She comes back, shoot to kill.”

Dean got up and moved down the hall. One of the agents was lying in the hall in a pool of his blood. Dean stooped down for a moment and felt for a pulse that wasn’t there. He kept moving, slinking along the wall, gun at the ready. He could hear a scuffle coming from the far room. He moved faster toward the doorway. It lead to an office that should have been empty. Another gunshot and the sound of a body falling greeted Dean as he moved into the space.  Many of the agents were out in the field. The facility was filled with desk jockeys, the men and women that took care of the paperwork and communications. Today, the place was nearly entirely empty.

“Dean,” Andrea said as she stood over the body of the agent that she’d encountered. Dean took the shot, but she dove behind a desk and returned fire.

“We can make a deal, Andrea.” Dean leaned back behind the wall near the door.

“Yeah, somehow I doubt it.” She fired again.

“So we’ll just shoot at each other until we run out of bullets?” Dean moved into the room and behind one of the desks on the opposite wall. Andrea saw his movement and shot at him again. Dean felt the bullet nick his upper arm. The room was large. He had a reasonable amount of cover. They had brought in those partition walls to give everyone some privacy. They were making it hard for Dean to see where exactly Andrea was.

Dean aimed up at the light fixture above where he thought she was and fired. The glass from the lights rained down on her from above. She made a noise. “Not playing fair, Dean.”

“Yeah, not really known for that.” He moved from his spot behind the desk to a spot behind another partition. He didn’t have real cover here, just a bit of invisibility as the partition went down to the floor. He hoped that she hadn’t seen him move. He could hear her. He moved along the wall with the partition between them. He darted out and rolled toward a desk on her side of the room. She took a shot and missed. He was behind another desk close to her now, or so he thought. “You gotta be out of bullets.”

She didn’t reply. The room was silent. He peered out around the desk. She took a shot. “Not quite.”

“Bobby wanted to believe you. He wanted to convince you to come to our side. For Benny.” Dean was just talking now, trying to throw her.

“Yeah, somehow I don’t think so.” He could hear her moving. “I showed up early, and from the moment he said, ‘oh, you’re early,’ I knew that the game was up.”

“It didn’t have to be.” Dean thought he could see where her head was behind the desk. He aimed and pulled the trigger. The edge of the desk splintered off and She moved into view and fired back. Dean fell back behind the desk out of view. He could hear her moving again and thought he heard her reloading. He moved out from behind the desk a little. He couldn’t see her though. It was quiet. “Andrea?” Dean waited. He looked up over the desk slowly. He still couldn’t see her. He cautiously moved to the other side. She was gone. “Sonofabitch.”

He moved back to the hall again. It was eerily quiet. He stepped carefully around the body and the blood. He made his way back to the stairwell. The door was slightly ajar. _Did she go down to the first floor?_ He pushed the door open. He looked back to be sure she hadn’t gotten behind him. He moved down the stairs, back hugging the wall. The first floor was chaos. Agents accosted him at the door as he opened it. For a moment he was pressed to the floor then he was recognized.

Bobby was on a stretcher getting carried out, while agents swarmed past him into the stairwell, guns drawn. They moved up the stairs to where Dean had just been. Bobby called out to him and Dean came to his side. “Get Krushnic to the safehouse in Germany. Await further instructions regarding the exchange.”

“You gonna be okay?” Dean looked down at the wound that wasn’t bleeding anymore.

“Yeah, it’ll take more than that to put me down.” Bobby nodded and said, “Get going.”

Dean moved away to the stairwell again. She had to still be in the building. He moved down the stairs. Some of the agents had gone down too. Three men were stationed on the stairs wary and watching. Dean moved past them with a nod, his gun held up in front of him. He moved out into the hall and noticed how quiet it was. He whispered back into the stairway. “She’s down here.” One of the men moved to his side. Dean looked at the other and said, “Go up, get help.”

He nodded in acknowledgement and left. The other agent stayed right behind Dean as they moved into the lower level. One of the agents that had gone in before them was unconscious on the floor, the wall holding him up at the base of the stairs. Dean had never thought that Andrea looked all that strong. There were two halls, one that ran perpendicular to the stairs and elevator, and the one that Krushnic was on. Dean waved the agent down the front hall while he took the one that lead to Krushnic.

All of the doors along the hall were open. He looked into each room before moving on. He wondered if she was here for Krushnic. She could have slipped out on the first floor. Then Dean remembered how many agents were there, and how that floor held the only exit.

She was most definitely here for Krushnic. He’d be her way out. She knew what he meant, that he was the trade. Dean moved faster. She didn’t know the facility though, and had wasted time on all the rooms leading up to this one. The door was open. He moved into it.

They were both there. “I’ll kill him, and I’ll kill myself. You’ll have nothing.”

“I let you go, and I have nothing.” There was blood on her arm, and the room showed signs of a struggle.

“I’ll give him back when I’m free.” She moved with Krushnic held close in one arm, her gun pressed to his head. He was still, eyes locked onto Dean for some sign of what to do. Her lips curled up. “You want to see your brother again? You get out of the way.” Dean moved back into the hall. “Walk ahead of us.”

“You think you’ll be able to just walk on out of the building? There’s dozens of agents up there just waiting for you.”

“If they make a move then this ends bloody. Your call. Their call.” They moved toward the stairwell. The other agent must have heard them and came running. He stopped when he saw them.

Dean said, “Move into that office there and shut the door. Don’t follow us.” The agent moved slowly toward the open door and did as he was told.

“See how easy that was.” Andrea’s mouth curled up into a smile. “Now clear the stairwell.” Dean moved into the stairwell and saw that there were agents moving down to him.

“I’m gonna need you all to move back up the stairs.” They just looked at him. “Do it now!” They began backing up the stairs slowly.

Andrea and Krushnic were behind him now. They moved along the wall up the stairs. The first floor door was open. The agents moved out of the stairwell. Dean followed. Andrea and Krushnic stayed in the stairwell behind him. “Dean,” one of the agents said.

Dean looked at him and said, “I’m going to need you to clear the space.”

“We’ve been instructed to not let her escape,” the agent replied. There were a half dozen men behind him. There were others in the space that he couldn’t see. He knew that, knew their training.

“You’re going to have to trust me on this.” Dean stepped into the room and said, “Let us pass.” The agents moved back and let their guns fall to their sides. Dean waved behind him and Andrea moved to his back with Krushnic.

 _If I can get the gun from her._ He thought. He plotted out the ways that it could go wrong. He thought about the shot that she’d take. The bullet in Krushnic’s head would all but seal Sam’s fate. They moved along the wall. The door loomed up out of nowhere. Dean never thought that it was so close. He opened the door to the too bright afternoon sunshine. He moved to the street. There was a man in his car at the stop sign on the corner. Andrea said, “That car.” Dean knew what she meant and moved toward it. Just as they got to it, he felt a blow to his head and fell to the ground as the world turned a little dark.

* * *

 

He wasn't out long, maybe seconds, maybe a minute. It was long enough for the car to be gone, long enough for an agent to be slapping him awake.

“Which way?” He all but shouted.

Dean stood and the agent stood with him. “They went east. Carson followed.”

“Get me a car.” Dean scanned the road to see if he'd be able to find one faster himself.

The agent pulled out a key and tossed it to him. “How're you with a motorcycle?”

“Great.” The agent motioned to it parked down the block.

“I'd like her back in one piece.”

Dean ran for it and called back, “I'll try.” He started it up and roared off to the east, hoping against hope that he'd figure out her path. They could be anywhere.

The bike was smooth. He easily cut between the cars stopped and waiting at traffic lights. He whipped into alleys and back onto main thoroughfares. The air blew his hair back from his face.

In the distance, he could see the docks. There were shipping vessels and one slender ocean liner just casting off. Somehow he knew, just knew that she had gone there. The airport or even the nearest field that could be used for a quick take off were nowhere near the dock. She had to be planning to board the ship.

He drove down an alley and zipped back onto the main road a block over. He drove between the cars despite the fact that they were moving. He got to the end of the road. It was all heavily populated dock space. There were crowds filling the area entirely. It was typical when the ships cast off.

Dean let his gaze roam over the heads of them. In the distance he could see what looked like an automobile accident. He squinted at it, at the smoke that wafted up from the hood. He drove to it, snaking around the people in his way. When he got there, he found Carson cradling his head, bleeding a little as he leaned back against the driver’s side door. An officer was attending to him when Dean cut the engine of the bike and walked up. He flashed a badge. The officer stepped aside.

“Where’d they go,” Dean asked while quickly examining Carson’s wounds.

“Not sure. Hard to say. All a bit fuzzy.” Carson looked like he’d pass out at any minute. Dean reached into Carson’s pocket and pulled out his wallet. He removed the cash and transferred it to his own pocket. Then he reached into one of Carson’s other pockets and found a pen. He wrote on the back of a business card. _Bobby, boarding the SS United States. --Dean._

“Give this to Bobby. If he can’t take it, give it to K, and she’ll figure out what to do with it.” Dean turned away from him. “Tell them I took your money. They’ll pay you back. Make sure to mention that I left the bike.” Dean didn’t wait for a reply. The ship was fast, faster than any ever built. It’s narrow frame and top secret engines and internal design made it a ship to be envied. As it was, Dean had already wasted too much time. He couldn’t swim the distance.

He made his way to the end of the dock and the building located there. He went in and approached the man at the radio who was communicating with the various captains that would be coming and going from the port. “Hey, you shouldn’t be in here.” The man’s high pitched protest didn’t stop Dean’s approach.

Dean pulled out his badge again and said, “I’m Agent Winchester, and I’m gonna need you to call the SS United States back in. My clearance is code word Wendigo. You can check it in your paperwork just under the desk there.” Dean motioned to the left and the guy reached over and pulled out a binder. He thumbed through it and looked up at Dean with a thin veil of worry on his face. They’d worked with TWA and a number of ocean liners in the past. Travel connections mattered in their business. Dean had even been on the SS United States a few times before in the line of duty. “Come on, get on the radio. Call them back.”

“Uh,” he looked at the badge and up at Dean and said, “Can’t do that. One, it’s a big ship. Turning her around is a bit of a feat. Two, she’s got the Duke and Duchess of Windsor on there. Should they be worried over something? They might not like it if their trip has a bit of a hiccup.”

“There’s a dangerous woman onboard. She has a hostage.” Dean looked at the ship as it continued moving out to sea. His chances were shrinking. “I’ve gotta get on that ship.”

“I can radio them to let you aboard. They’d have to drop a line to you.”

“Do it.” Dean started to leave and the guy stopped him.

“Sir, it’s gonna be quite a climb. You sure?” He looked dubious.

“I’ve got this.” Dean rushed out and down the dock toward the end that housed the private boats. The end closest to the shore had some private fishing vessels and a few small yachts.  He’d already seen the boat that he was choosing. At the far end was a small ski boat. A woman was lying in the front of it sunbathing. Her red swimsuit was almost as vibrant as her red hair pulled up into a ponytail. Her bangs were curled under like so many of the pinups he had seen in magazines. She was stunning.

He stopped at the end of the dock. She lifted her dark sunglasses and peered at him for a moment before saying, “Anything I can do for you?”

“Can you drive me out to that ship?” Dean was willing to wait for about fifteen more seconds before he just took over and forgot polite discourse entirely. The ship was almost too far away now.

She sat up and moved to the driver’s seat. “Sure can. You seem desperate. Missed the boarding?”

“Something like that.” He boarded the boat and she motioned for him to untie them from the dock. Dean did and she pulled away a little cautiously at first, then she slammed the throttle down, and the boat surged ahead. Dean nearly fell back into a seat. “I believe that I underestimated this boat.”

“She’s fast. Good thing too. The SS United States is quite fast herself. Made it across the Atlantic in just over three days I hear.”

Dean looked out at the ship as they bridged the gap. She wasn’t running at full throttle. She wouldn’t. The record was already set and this trip she was on was likely more about the journey for the passengers. “How long will she be taking this time?”

The woman shouted back over the roar of her boat’s engine, “Just shy of a week. We usually see her back in port here every two weeks, give or take.” She smiled and steered a little toward the ship. “Name’s Charlie.”

“Dean.” He shook her offered hand. “We gonna make it?”

“Yeah, but I don’t see how you’re gonna get onboard. Not like they have doors down at sea level for you to just walk on into.” The boat was much closer now, and Dean was not worried anymore. He knew he’d be able to get aboard.

“Don’t worry too much about that. I’ve got that part figured out already.”

“And here I thought that I’d just have a boring day of sunbathing. Now I get to help a guy reunite with his true love.”

“Wow, you’re assuming a lot.”

“Don’t crush my imagination. If you tell me you’re sailing for business, I’ll turn right back for shore.” She winked at him, and he smiled back.

They were near enough now that Dean could see people on the upper decks milling around and looking back to the shore. “Can you wrap around to the other side?” He was certain that the rope would be there. Fewer witnesses.

“Sure thing.” She directed the boat to the back of the SS United States and bounced through its wake. Dean held on for dear life. Charlie was a daredevil. She raced alongside the ship.

Toward the front, Dean could see a rope ladder hanging down from a door that was open high above. The rope ladder, fortunately ran all the way to the water. “How close can you get to the side there?”

Charlie grinned with a look of absolute pleasure. I can get right up next to her so long as she stays as steady as she is. Looks like she slowed up. They’re waving at you.”

Dean looked up at the opening and waved back. “Old acquaintances. Pays to know people in high places.” He winked and pulled out some cash that he pressed into her hand. She looked down at it and cocked an eyebrow. “For the help.”

She pushed the money back to him and rolled her eyes. “Get ready.” They were near the side but not near enough. “Use the hook.” She pointed to the front of the boat. There was a long pole laying on the floor space. It had a hook on the end of it. Dean had seen one before on a fishing vessel, but not on a boat like this. He pulled it out and used it to reach the rope. It took a couple of swipes at the side of the ship. When he finally got it hooked on the rope, he pulled it to him and cast the pole back to the floor.

“Thanks, Charlie.” She smiled and waved as he jumped from the boat, rope in hand. When he looked back at her, as he hung from the side of the ship, she was already driving away in a sharp arc and away. Dean took a deep breath and began the climb. Hand over hand he inched his way up the side of the ship. The wind was harsh. His white shirt billowed out a little. He was wet and a little cold, but he couldn’t focus on that past the sharp sting running through his muscles with each move up the rope.

Ten feet down. He didn’t look back at the distance he’d come, but just up to where he was going. There were two men leaning out of the hole, pulling at the rope to lessen the climb. He was grateful. Together, they were making short work of it. A minute, two, three, and finally he was hauled up over the side where he laid for a few moments catching his breath. One of the men reached out and helped him to his feet. “Welcome aboard, Agent Winchester. The captain has instructed the crew to set aside a room for your use, for when your mission allows for it. He has asked that we send his regards and continued gratitude for past services.”

“Send the captain my regards and continued gratitude. His nation thanks him.” Dean began moving away, thinking that he needed to get to Andrea before she did any damage or figured out that she could take a few more hostages.

The man took hold of Dean’s arm before he could leave though. “The captain has also asked that you change into dry clothes, and that you do your best to prevent anyone from knowing that anything is awry. The passengers must not know that there is any danger or be placed in any danger.”

“Understood. Show me to my cabin.” Dean followed the man down the hall at a brisk clip. At the end of the hall was a small space with a ladder. They moved up a ladder into a wider space. Eventually, the man opened a door that spilled them out into a semi-populated, ornate hall.

“This way Mr. Winchester.” He pointed ahead, and Dean followed close on his heels. The man pulled out a key and opened a door to his right. “Here we are.” Dean entered the large room. “First class accommodations will allow you ease of access to all of the levels of the ship. On the table you’ll find a map that the captain thought you might find helpful. There is a trunk of clothes in the bedroom there. The captain said that it had been saved from your last journey and should have what you need. If you require anything more, please let me know.” Dean nodded at him and watched him go. He made short work of changing. The trunk had more than he needed, including a few additional firearms and knives for good measure.

He left the room in a crisp white button up and tie worn with a black jacket and trousers that matched. He looked the part of a wealthy man, dressing down just a little for his vacation. Beneath his jacket he wore his holster and gun against his chest. He thought he’d feel more comfortable if he could just have the gun in hand. He had looked over the map, reminding himself where the best access points were located. He thought that Andrea would stay in the lower decks with the cargo. She would want to avoid all interactions.

He moved out to the walkway that ran along the outside of the ship. He could look out the wall of windows to the open sea. Dean hoped that he had been right, that the agent had been right and that Andrea had taken Krushnic onto the ship. Dean wondered why Krushnic hadn’t fought her to escape. He considered the moments that it had been possible to have made an attempt. He could have ducked and twisted in the stairwell. _He could have gotten the gun then with ease_ , Dean thought. She was moving behind Dean, but even Dean had considered making a move then. The only reason that he didn’t was because he had felt that there was a strong likelihood of getting shot himself in the altercation. _And what if Krushnic was working with her? What if he wasn’t as much of a double agent as he said?_ Dean had to consider those possibilities too.

Yet somehow, he believed him, believed everything he had said. He couldn’t shake the familiarity that he felt whenever they spoke to one another. It was like talking to an old friend. He didn’t understand it, likely never would, but it was there, and it shaped how he had responded.

He saw the door he was looking for on the other side of the entryway into the dining hall. He opened the door and found himself in a passageway that lead to some stairs. Dean made his way down, down, down into the bowels of the ship. There was a lift that the workers could use to move the larger trunks up to the floors containing cabins. He didn’t take that as he felt that it would make his approach too obvious.

He passed workers that seemed to accept his presence. He’d interacted with many of them in the past, and they seemed to know not to question him. It was likely that the captain had something to do with that. He ran a friendly ship, but also he ran an intelligent ship. This ship wasn’t just a pleasure cruise. It was a red, white, and black ship of secrets, used countless times in the name of God and country, and the captain maintained a crew that could be of absolute service no matter the demands.

The baggage hold was dark. Dean felt comfortable enough here to pull out his gun and hold it low as he walked the rows of crates and trunks stacked high with items of value throughout the vast underbelly of the ship. He let his eyes adjust before picking up the pace. He scanned the rows, considered his path around the perimeter, and listened for any hint of a human presence.

He made his way silently to the far corner of the space where it was darkest. The ship had a few electric lights along the walls, but they didn’t illuminate much. Dean hunkered down and waited, listening. The elevator opened and closed with some regularity. The staff was coming and going, bringing up trunks and baggage to the rooms of the passengers.

Two hours passed and he could feel the sway of the ship on the waves. He did not become sick, but eventually he heard the sound of someone that was. The space had grown silent except for that. The staff had apparently taken all of the baggage required to the appropriate places, and now there was just him and whoever was experiencing the wretched throes of seasickness on the other end of the cargo hold.

Dean tipped his head to the area that he thought the sound was coming from. He heard a whispered bit of Russian, “Stop. I’ll kill you in an instant if you can’t get a hold of yourself.”

Another sound of sickness, then Dmitri responded in his clipped Russian, “Do it. I’m sure Teplyakova would understand.”

Dean moved closer. He could hear more. They still spoke in whispers. “You went through the same training I did. You aren’t sick.” She sounded disgusted.

Dean edged closer, gun drawn and at the ready. They fell silent. Dean worried at that, but he had not made a sound. He could see the space that the voices had been coming from. He planned to move swiftly, take the shot to injure. He didn’t want to kill her. She was going to be used in the new exchange. Dean had seen what she was capable of though. He had counted sixteen dead at the office, dead by her hands. She was skilled. The men she took out were not untrained civilians either. How she managed to not kill Bobby was still a mystery.

He held his breath in the silence and made his move into the dark corner. Unfortunately, Andrea was ready for him. “Well, hello Dean.” Her words curled up to him through the dark. She had a pale and sickly looking Krushnic pulled to her chest, gun to his temple.

Dean held the gun steadily aimed at her and considered taking the shot. He could do it, but she might kill Krushnic. He didn’t lower the weapon. “I’m gonna need you to lower the weapon,” he said calmly.

She laughed. “I’m sure you hear how ridiculous you sound.” She made a nodding motion toward a crate next to her. “Lower your weapon and have a seat.” Dean considered his options, made eye contact with Krushnic, and realized he had to comply. He moved to the crate, weapon lowered but still in his grasp.

Dean sat on the crate with his back to her. He could hear her moving and wanted to look. He faced forward though and made plans. “You won’t get out of here. I’ve got men waiting for you already on the other side.”

She laughed at him again and was at his back. “You mean once we dock? Wow, color me scared.” The gun was pressed to the back of his head now. “Drop your gun.” He did. “Move you hands slowly behind your back. He did as he was told with deliberate slowness. He wondered what she had done with Krushnic. _Was he standing off to the side while all this went down?_ Dean didn’t want to be so wrong. She had rope that she tied his hands with. She made short work of moving his body so that she could tie off his legs as well. Dean went limp and let her do her best.

Her knots were tight, but nothing he couldn’t escape from given enough time. She moved into his view and retrieved his gun and pocketed it. “What’s your plan?”

“I’m gonna give you to my people. They’re gonna have fun with you. Uriel will love getting to return the hospitality that you showed him when you had him in your care.” She smiled close to his face and then spit at him. She left him like that and he couldn’t see what she was doing behind him. She came back to his face and leaned down. She stuffed a small cloth in his mouth and then took a strip of cloth and tied it tight around his mouth to hold in the gag. “That should keep you quiet while I find a crate to pack you in. She smiled and strolled off.

Dean could hear movement at his back, Krushnic was doing something. Dean rolled his hands out a little from their present position. The ropes loosened a bit, but not much. He moved his legs toward the back of his head and could almost get his fingers on the ropes around his ankles. He concentrated on his breathing in the hopes that he could force his body to contort more than was natural.

Suddenly, he felt a hand on his back. Krushnic leaned into his ear and said, “Be still. She’ll be back faster than I can release you.” He seemed to have done something though, because Dean could feel a little more slack in the knot holding his hands together. Krushnic moved in front of him. He tucked himself into the space between the crates across from them.

Dean saw movement from the far end of the ship. She was coming back, dragging a crate behind her. She stopped abruptly before reaching him and dropped the end of the crate. She moved swiftly toward him, gun drawn, clearly seeing that Krushnic was gone. As she passed the niche that Krushnic was wedged in, he moved. She turned just a little toward him and her gun was momentarily not aimed at either of them.

Krushnic dove at her, knocking her off her feet. The gun slid along the aisle space as they struggled with each other, two dark masses. Dean moved his hands about behind him, trying to get the ropes loose enough for him to gain freedom. A little pressure and he dislocated his thumb. That allowed him the little extra bit of looseness needed for the removal of his hands from the ropes.

He quickly moved to get his legs free and saw that at that moment Andrea was moving toward him. With his uninjured hand, Dean reached into his coat and drew the knife out that he had there and threw it at her. It lodged in her chest, just to the right of her heart. He hoped that it wouldn’t kill her. She fell to her knees and slumped forward. She took in a ragged breath and then fell face down to the floor.

Krushnic crawled over to her and rolled her over so that he could look down at her face. “She’s not dead.” Dean came to his side and looked down.

“Good. I didn’t have much time to really aim.” He looked at Krushnic and said, “Sorry.”

“We might be able to keep her going, if the onboard medic has some skills.” Krushnic nodded toward her shoulders, and he stooped down to pick up her feet. Dean followed his lead, and they carried her to the elevator doors.

“We can’t take her up. We’ll need to get her to the ship’s doctor without drawing attention.” Dean set her down. “Wait here. I’ll be back with help.” Krushnic nodded, and Dean ran up the stairs. He thought as he rounded each corner on his way to the ship’s doctor, the echo of his shoes on the metal steps, _Krushnic saved me. I was right to believe him._

* * *

 

They waited in the medical office while the doctor worked on Andrea’s wound. The captain had dinner sent to them, and they ate it in silence. So much was riding on her not dying. If she died, Krushnic would be the one sent home. So it was that looming over them that seemed to finally cause him to give voice to the very thing that they were both thinking about. “If she dies, it’ll be okay. You’ll still get Sam back. I’ll make sure of it.”

Dean looked up from his empty plate. He said, “We don’t need to be thinking about that yet. I’m pretty determined right now to not have any sacrificial players on this team.”

“I understand. I just wanted you to know that if she doesn’t make it, there’ll be no hesitation. I’ll be exchanged, and I won’t fight it. Won’t even want to.” Krushnic looked off toward the back of the room where the door to the surgical room was. It was a fine room, complete with all of the modern conveniences. The doctor even had a surgical background. She was in good hands. It wasn’t a hospital though, not really.

Dean followed Krushnic’s gaze toward the door and said, “Don’t go giving up just yet.” Dean pushed back from the table and decided to take a different conversational path. “Mind if I ask you something?”

He lost some of his seriousness then and said, “Of course Agent Winchester. In fact, I believe that is your job.” His lips curled up into a slight smile.

Dean said, “First, call me Dean. Won’t do to have it getting out that there’s an agent on board. Plus, we’ll need a cover for you too. Might help if you didn’t sound so…” He paused for a diplomatic word for what he wanted to say, but Krushnic interrupted.

“Russian, Dean. I believe the word you’re looking for is Russian.” They both laughed a little.

“Yeah, that’d be it.” He licked his lips and asked, “You have any other accents in your arsenal?”

Krushnic said without missing a beat, “I can do Indio-Russian.” He changed his accent just slightly as he said it to illustrate the point.

“Not quite different enough,” Dean said, and they laughed again. “I’m thinking that we tell people that you’re my cousin. That’ll be enough to explain why we’re traveling together.”

“So I need to sound more like you or just more like an American in general.” Krushnic adopted a mid-western tone and Dean nearly fell out of his chair. He leaned forward and stared at him. “What?”

Dean didn’t speak at first. He knew that voice, was haunted by that voice in dreams and sometimes even when he was awake. It was a voice that he had carried for years. A voice that comforted him in the dark when the shadows were stronger than the light. It was a voice that called to him. It was a voice that had hinted at a promise of future meetings when it had said, “‘til we meet again,” and Dean had searched for its owner, had hoped to find him in the vast world, and now here he was sitting across from him. _Maybe_ . _Likely not. Get a hold of yourself. It’s been a decade._

“You sounded like someone I knew once,” Dean admitted.

“Well, if you would rather a southern drawl, I can do that too,” he said in an accent that had hints of Georgia in the music of it. Krushnic was still smiling as he said this, but there was something different, a tell that Dean noted and would have written into his notebook for future consideration.

“No, the midwestern accent is the one for you.” Dean pushed down his feelings on the subject, squashed the hope that he momentarily felt. _It wasn’t him, couldn’t be him._

“You said you had a question for me.” Krushnic paused and added, “Before.”

Dean had to focus. He couldn’t remember for a moment what it was that he was going to ask. Then it came back. “When we were down there with Andrea, she tied me up to go get the crate.”

“Yes,” Krushnic interrupted.

“I get why she did that, but you,” Dean swallowed a little and continued, “She tied you up too, I think.”

“She did,” he replied slowly as if he was trying to work out the reason Dean was bringing it up.

“Why’d she tie you up? Technically, you would have stayed. Technically, you are playing for her team.” Dean watched Kruhnic’s face for a tell, for something.

The little space between his brows came together just a bit. Dean noted it. It was the liar’s wrinkle, there and gone. “It was a precaution. Interrogations can sometimes make people behave in ways that are out of character. Until I was returned home and debriefed, I’d need to be secured for her safety and my own.”

“Or she knows that you’ve been working with Sam or at least against team Russia,” Dean offered up as a counter. He could see Krushnic trying to come up with his words. Just the fact that he had to think about it so much before coming up with an argument against it was telling.

“It is unlikely that she knew. She had no way of knowing.”

“She knew that Bobby had her figured out with just a minimal interaction. Your loyalty would be questioned. It had to be, and she knew.” The doctor chose that moment to return.

“Well, you’ll be happy to know that I have her stable, for now at least.”

Dean let out an audible breath. “Finally, something went right.”

“Don’t pin all your hopes on this though. I mean, she’s still in a critical place. I’ve got her sedated and mostly stabilized. I’ll keep her under close watch throughout the night and even tomorrow.”

“What’re her chances?” Krushnic asked.

“Even, I’d say.” The doctor turned to go back to Andrea’s room. “You two should go get some rest. I’ll keep you posted on things here. The captain has also assigned a guard for the room. Hardly necessary though. She’s not going anywhere.”

“Thanks, doc,” Dean said with a smile as he turned back to Krushnic. “Guess sometimes good things do happen.”

* * *

 

They moved into Dean’s room like the weight of the world was resting on their shoulders. Dean rested his hand on Krushnic’s back as they walked in, reaching back to close the door behind them. “You mind if I use your bathroom to get cleaned up? It’s been quite a day,” said Krushnic.

Dean said, “By all means. _Mi casa, es su casa_ .” Krushnic moved off to the other room and disappeared into the bathroom. The room had all the amenities. Dean looked over past the couch to the low-lying cabinet that held glasses and beverages that were restocked each day. Dean wandered over to it and pulled out a bottle of bourbon, added some ice to a glass from the ice bucket that someone had thoughtfully filled for them, and poured himself a generous drink. _I earned this._ He glanced back into the bedroom with its one bed. He looked back at the small blue couch up against the wall and contemplated the discomfort he’d have sleeping there.

He wasn’t about to ask Krushnic to sleep on the couch though. Guy was maybe going to be stuck back in Russia because of him, because he couldn’t take just two more seconds to aim his knife a little better. _The bed’s his._ Dean took off his jacket and draped it over the back of the matching blue chair that was on the other side of the coffee table. He could hear the water running in the bathroom. He undid his tie and unbuttoned the top button that had been beneath it. He undid his buttons at his cuffs and pushed the sleeves up a bit. He felt a little of the weight of the day slip away for a moment.

Dean drank down his bourbon and stared out the small porthole at the moonlight-dappled waves. The waves looked mystical, like they contained the mysteries of the world just beneath their surface. He didn’t notice how much time had passed as he stared out into the night. He held his glass at his side. When the water stopped and Krushnic emerged from the bathroom, white towel wrapped around his waist, Dean turned to him and sucked in a deep breath.

It had been a long day, and he was far from keeping himself in check. Krushnic approached him, slowly, eyes never leaving Dean’s. He reached out to Dean’s hand and, fingers ghosting over Dean’s, he took the glass and raised it to his lips, “Mind?”

Dean gravelled out, “Okay.”

Krushnic just smiled and took a drink that was likely mostly melted ice at this point. They were close. Dean didn’t move away or even want to. He just watched him greedily as he swallowed the last dregs of the bourbon. “Do you have some clothes I might borrow?”

Dean glanced away toward the bedroom and said, “You’re welcome to whatever you can find in the trunk.”

Krushnic didn’t move away though, just reached back and set the glass on the end table behind him. “So until we get to shore, I’m your cousin, correct?” Krushnic still spoke in that midwestern accent that he’d adopted earlier. Dean felt the words, felt the familiarity of it all. He nodded agreement but didn’t speak. He was processing it all. _What were the chances?_ He’d looked for him after the war, even found a guy with the last name of Novak that lived in the midwest. He showed up on his doorstep, met his wife and kid, talked to him, and learned that he wasn’t Cas, wasn’t even close. He said he knew a guy by that name though, said they met and talked over the coincidence of their shared last name. The lead died there though. Krushnic interrupted his thoughts. “If I am to be your cousin, I’m thinking that you shouldn’t call me by my last name anymore.”

Dean just kept staring at him, wondering if he was wrong, but the voice kept telling him he was right. He was afraid to ask, afraid to be wrong and a little afraid to be right. Dean finally said, “What should I call you?”

“You could call me Dmitri.” He swayed a little in front of Dean. The closer they got, the warmer Dean felt, and it was all he could do to just keep still, just keep from pulling him in and tasting him. He thought about all the times he had slept with someone, replacing them in his imagination with Cas. He thought about the way his mind would twist up their voices until it was him. It was always Cas, and now he looked at this man in front of him, clad in just a towel, and he thought, _maybe._

“Not a very midwestern name.” Dean’s words were quiet, a barely there whisper between them.

“You have a better name in mind?”

Dean lifted his hand a little, let his fingers brush up Krushnic’s arm. He stopped at his shoulder and traced out imaginary circles there. He didn’t move away from Dean. Instead he moved his own hand to Dean’s hip and settled it there. It was an invitation, a sign of acceptance for what could come. Dean had to know though, had to gauge his reaction even if he chose to deny it. Dean said, “How about Cas?”

Krushnic sucked in a sharp inhale, but didn’t look away. “It’s a good name.”

“It’s your name.” Dean noted the way the name hit him. He noticed the way he couldn’t deny it. He was Cas, his Cas. “I looked for you. When the war ended, I looked for you.” He couldn’t entirely curb the tone of accusation.

Cas looked away and focused on the small space on the floor between them. He didn’t look up at Dean when he said, “I didn’t intend for you to know. Thought it’d be too much for both of us if I had to go back. Thought you might be happier just thinking I died or something.”

Dean moved his hand up to Krushnic’s, no, Cas’ cheek and made him look at him again. “All this time, you just kept this to yourself.”

“I had to. I knew that I’d be sent home. Then what? I couldn't do that to you. I know your character.”

Dean felt the slow boil of anger rolling up his throat and into his words. Just a moment ago he was worried that he was wrong, but now that he was right what did it mean. It meant that Cas knew. He knew and he kept it from him. His hand fell from Cas back to his own side. “Really? You think you know me?” His voice rose in volume. “Why didn't you find me after the war?”

“I did,” Cas whispered.

“Yeah, really?” Dean growled out and stalked back over to the cabinet of alcohol. He pulled out another glass and refilled it. “Musta missed the reunion.”

“Clearly I didn't make contact.” He was looking off at the porthole. Dean moved back toward him.

“Why Cas? You gonna tell me I imagined something between us? You gonna say you didn’t feel a connection. Give me one good reason for not making contact.” Cas remained silent. A look of sadness painted his face. “I looked for you. I scoured the newspapers every night. You were the reason I didn't give up when I came home, when my dad died, when I couldn't even sleep because I still heard the war in my head. You. I had to find you. I never gave up.”

When he spoke it was a quiet confession, but his words were not weak. They raked over Dean's bare soul. “I learned of your life, followed your work and choices. I even came to the States once and found you. There were moments in that trip that I thought of making myself known to you.”

“But you didn't. Why?” He repeated the question with a little less harshness underlying his tone. It was more frustration now, frustration at the years lost.

Cas breathed in and leveled his gaze on Dean. “I will never be allowed to escape. I'll be hunted everyday. Anyone with me would suffer the same fate. And I messed up. I sat in that room with you thinking that maybe I would be allowed to escape in a different way. Suppose we trade her. Then I’d be free right?”

Dean nodded and said, “That’d be the point.”

“Yes, I let myself think that too. I gave in, picked that old accent out of thin air, telling myself you wouldn’t recognize it, but at the same time I wanted you to know it, wanted you to remember it like it mattered, like I remembered everything about you.” He stared at Dean with absolute intensity. He continued, “I regretted it the moment I used it. I suppose though, I’m still a little selfish. I’m glad you remembered me.”

“I don’t understand why that’s a problem.”

“Even if Andrea survives, even if we trade her for Sam, I'll be a danger to anyone near me. I didn’t want to do that to you. I already brought this danger to Sam, and all my regrets will do nothing to fix that.”

He turned then and went into the bedroom. Dean could hear him digging in the trunk for clothes. He didn't know what to say to him. He decided he'd sleep, let the world just go on being every kind of wrong.

He stalked into the bedroom and grabbed a pillow off the bed. He took it to the couch without a word to Cas. He sunk down to the couch, folding his arms over his chest. Cas came to the doorway between the rooms wearing some loose fitting pajama pants that he'd found in the trunk. He stood there staring at Dean. “What?” Cas kept looking at him. “Don't just stand there watching me sleep. It's creepy. Go to bed.”

“You should take the bed.” Cas nodded over his shoulder then walked to the edge of the couch. He stared down at Dean. Dean felt the look rake over his body again.

“No. I'm fine here.” He looked past Cas, losing the anger that he'd felt moments before. Cas did all of this for him. He let himself be caught. He kept his life a secret. It was too much to think about. And he was a prisoner, Dean's prisoner. He was mad at him for making all the decisions for them both, but he was also rather saddened that he hadn’t done more to fix this wholly messed-up situation. Now it all felt impossible.

“It's big enough for both of us.” Cas’ words were hesitant.

“You're my prisoner. That wouldn't be appropriate. Besides I've taken enough from you as it is.” Dean kept his eyes on him as he spoke, noted the effect the words had.

“I've never been your prisoner, and you've never taken anything from me.”

“Says the guy in borrowed pajamas who'll be traded back to Russia in a heartbeat if Andrea dies.” Dean looked away then.

Cas’ hand settled on his foot. “It's my choice to be here and even to be traded should it come to that.” He moved his hand up and squeezed Dean's leg adding, “Come to bed.”

His words were a low growl. They crawled over Dean and almost made him comply. “No Cas. As much as you deny it, you are my prisoner, and I won't take advantage of you.”

He watched as Cas' lips twitched a little. They almost smirked down at him. “Then I'll have to prove to you that I'm not a prisoner. I thought before it'd be easier if you didn't know, if I never touched you. But now you know, and I can tell that won't be enough.” He turned and walked slowly back to the bedroom. With his back to Dean he said, “I'll prove I'm not your prisoner, and you'll share my bed. And if I'm traded, I'll carry the memory of you home with me.”

* * *

 

Dean dreamed of darkness. He dreamed of artillery fire puncturing the night. His mind saw the dead and the living both, their faces morphed and nearly indistinguishable on the fields of battle. He crawled over the loose rock and felt the world beneath him digging into his flesh. He was pelted by earth blasted from the sides of the mountain by maybe the enemies, maybe the allies. It hardly mattered who was the source. The world was fire and brimstone, and he was tossed into it.

As suddenly as it came, the blasts of weapons, the machine gun pops ended. He was left in the quiet and the dark. He felt hands on his waist, a warm breath curling over his neck. He wasn’t alone. The pressure of the hands on his waist slipped away. They fell on his thigh, his leg, his arms. He felt fingers curling in his hair just over the back of his neck. He took comfort from the touches.

It was all that he had looked for, wanted, craved. He hadn’t told a soul. Sam wondered what had pulled him from their apartments in every new town they came to. He visited every library, combed all the newspapers for a name, Cas Novak. It was thirty-six days, less actually than that if one only counted their time in the cave. It was less still if one counts only the days that Dean’s mind shifted to thoughts of a different sort.

At first he was just a fellow soldier tossed into an impossible circumstance at his side. Then he was sharing details, intimate knowledge of family and friends, fear and loss. Dean learned of Cas’ father, and how he had just disappeared. He learned of his mother, hard-working and sometimes distant. He learned of his sister, sentimental and above all caring and kind. He learned all of this and slowly felt himself clinging to the words, needing them like water.

He wanted more. He knew better than to hope for anything. He knew better than to ask. He felt him though, a warm press of lips in his hair, hands that held on with something like want. And in his dreams he let himself have what he wanted, what they both wanted. Sometimes the darkness gave way to light, and he could see Cas in his arms. Sometimes the darkness stayed and they found pleasure in touch alone. He breathed him in until the artillery fire kicked up again, rattling the walls around them.

He held him through the barrage and the danger. Cas held him too. They lived for each other in the dream, and sometimes when he woke he felt something like hope that he might find him, might learn if any of it was real. Like always, the peace of the dream would fall away. Some enemy would always be lurking in the shadows intent on stealing it all.

He never could sleep for more than a few hours. The war or the shadows often woke him with a start. Even on the ship, he had no reprieve. He sat bolt upright, feeling the gentle sway of the ship’s motion beneath him. His chest heaved like he’d been running. He hadn’t realized it, but he’d pulled his gun from between the cushions of the couch when he sat up.

He wasn’t alone. Cas was sitting on the coffee table, legs crossed beneath him, guns and knives laid out in a careful row in front of him. “What, what…” Dean stuttered out, gun still held high.

“I missed one.” Cas carefully unfolded his legs from beneath him and stood.

“What’re you doing?” Dean moved his legs to the floor. “Those are mine.” He looked down at the weapons on display in front of him.

“They are. It is apparent that I have not successfully disarmed you this evening.” He moved back to his bedroom.

“Wait.” Dean stood. “You did that while I was sleeping?”

“Yes.”

Dean waited a beat, processing what happened. “You pulled all the guns and knives off me without waking me up?”

Cas turned to him and said, “I realize that you are still waking up, but you are an agent Dean. You really should be better at basic comprehension. Also, disarming you was easy. I almost think you want me to succeed.” Cas moved back to the bed and got in. He watched Dean like he was waiting for something. He might as well have said aloud, _your move._

Dean went back to the couch and held up the gun in his hand. “Still armed, and you’re still my prisoner.”

“And I still disagree.” Cas rolled over onto his side. Dean could see him clearly from where he was lying on the couch. Cas’ eyes were closed. A few minutes later, he cracked one open and caught Dean staring at him. “Go to sleep, Dean. Watching me sleep is…” he paused for effect, “creepy.”

“You gonna take my weapons again if I sleep?”

“You’ll have to see. I make no promises.”

Dean closed his eyes then and let sleep take him, but not before he rearmed himself and the couch too.

* * *

 

Dean didn’t sleep well. He did wake up though with a start, running his hands over his body in search of his weapons. They seemed to be in place. Cas walked into the room, fully dressed. He looked down at Dean as he sat on the couch. “You were restless last night.”

“You could fix that.” Dean grumbled as he got up and moved into the bedroom to retrieve some clothes.

Cas followed him and leaned into the doorframe to watch him. “I did offer my help. Not my fault you declined.”

“Prisoner.” He pointed at him with some force from across the room.

Cas smiled and looked away. “You have all of your weapons?”

Dean ran his hands over his body again and came up one short. “Shit.” He got up and walked over to Cas to retrieve it. “When? They were all there when I woke up.”

Dean held out his hand for the small gun that was no longer in his pocket. Cas said, “Turns out that it might be easier to just do this when you’re awake.” He didn’t return the gun.

“Well, ya gonna hand it over?”

“You’re welcome to find it.” Cas smirked.

Dean seemed to consider for a moment then swept Cas’ feet out from under him, effectively landing him on the floor. Cas was fast though. He rolled to the left as Dean came for him. Dean got one hand on his leg and pulled. Cas kicked out his other leg and got it over Dean’s body. Somehow Dean found himself wrapped in legs. _Like a goddamn octopus._ Cas rolled, getting the top position. “Give up,” Dean said.

“No.” Cas leaned down to Dean then, bringing his lips close to his ear. “I’m not your prisoner.” He hopped off Dean then, leaving him a little frustrated.

Dean got up. “Go in the other room. I need to change.” Seemed best to just ignore the absolute defeat.

“Okay then.” Cas slipped into the other room. Dean could hear him moving around. He got dressed with some speed. He noted that he was down two more weapons. _Damnit._

* * *

 

They went to breakfast after checking on Andrea. The doctor waved them off saying, “She’s still unconscious. Go eat.” They were happy enough to comply. They walked side by side down the hall toward the dining room. Dean felt Cas’ hand brush close to his side. He reached out and pushed his hand away.

“Personal space.” Dean smirked. “Don’t think I’m unaware.”

“You do seem to be enjoying this.” Cas raised a brow and continued walking alongside him still just as close as before.

“Your efforts amuse me.” They rounded the corner and entered the dining room.

The host greeted them and asked Dean when his scheduled seating time was. Before Dean could even form a reason for their lack of a scheduled seating time, the captain came to his side and interrupted their discourse. “This is Mr. Winchester. He and his companion will be seated whenever they arrive for food.” The captain smiled, his eyes held Dean’s a moment then passed over to Cas. “I believe that I have not yet made your acquaintance. Captain Anderson at your service.”

Cas reached out and shook the offered hand. “Cas Novak.”

“Good to meet you. Mr. Winchester has been of some service to us in the past, so if there is anything that is needed by either of you, you need do no more than ask.” With that he gave them a nod and moved back into the dining room.

The host reached out a hand to direct them toward a table. “This table will be reserved for you. If you return when I’m not on duty, just let the host at that time know your name. It will be enough.” They took their seats, and Dean thanked him.

“You’ve been of service on this ship?” Cas questioned once they were comfortable.

“Yes. I utilize this ship wherever business takes me to Europe. I prefer it to flying. In the past, under a different captain, I tracked a man that was planning to sabotage this ship. He had a small explosive device that he was going to detonate below decks near the engines. I managed to take him out before any damage was done.”

“Did he make it onboard?”

“He did. Getting his identity was the hardest part. He was clever. It was like chasing a ghost.” Dean paused a moment as the waiter brought them coffee and a plate of breakfast pastries. Dean picked up a croissant and tore off a piece. “Anderson has only been on this ship for a couple of months, but already he has made a name for himself. He’s a good man. I traveled on his other ship before he came to this one. Sam needed help transporting some people to the States. Anderson helped us out with that. In turn we’ve helped with security on the ship in other circumstances.”

“Sounds like you’ve had a long and mutually beneficial relationship.” Cas picked up his coffee and took a drink. They each ate their food and drank their coffees in companionable silence. More food came, and empty plates went. Dean felt Cas’ foot pressed to the side of his own under the table. He focused his attention on the point of contact, felt the small rush that contact gave. He glanced at him over the rim of his coffee cup and saw that Cas was staring back.

“I know what you’re doing.” Dean glanced down at the table, but he was really staring through it to his foot and the blade that was tucked near his ankle.

“If you didn’t, I’d have to assume that you were in the wrong profession.” Cas continued picking at the last of his food. When he finished, he leaned forward into the space between them. His voice low so only Dean could hear him, he said, “I thought of you often, everyday even. What is it about you that has so infected me? We spent mere days together, and here I am years later, thinking of nothing but…” He stopped. The waiter came back to clear their plates.

Dean held his breath, waiting for the rest of the sentence. Cas looked away past the waiter to the windows that were filled with bright morning sunlight and miles of ocean. When the waiter left, and Cas didn’t pick up the sentence to finish it off, Dean said, “Should we walk on the upper deck?” _Anything that is not the room. Anything that is not us alone._ Dean knew that his resolve was crumbling, had been since he’d decided that resolve was something he was supposed to have.

“Yes.” They left the dining hall and walked too close together. Dean could feel the warmth of Cas’ hand as it brushed past his own with every step. They took the stairs to the upper deck and had to walk one behind the other. Dean felt Cas’ hand on his back and thought that it was more than a casual touch. He had a gun there beneath his jacket.

Once they were on the upper deck, the wind buffeted his body back a little. Cas’ hand pressed firmly into him as he wavered on the top step. “Windier than I expected.”

Cas came to his side, dragging his hand along Dean’s back as he did so. He pointed off a little to some distant lounge chairs that were somewhat secluded and unoccupied. Dean moved along the walkway toward them with Cas. They each took one, but didn’t lay back in them as others did. They sat on them, facing each other, legs close in the space between. “It’s nice out here. Reminds me of home a little.” Cas looked off at the ocean. A gull soared by on stiff wings.

“You still think of it like that?” He watched Cas tip his head as he considered the question. “Home? Berlin?”

“I little. I had good memories there despite my work. I was really thinking of Russia though, just outside of Moscow, and also my mother’s home there. It’s not as though we lived near an ocean or that anything here is really similar. It’s the feel of the sun after not having it. Going home to them was a relief, a reminder that I’m not just a tool for some cause.”

“Oh.” Dean ran a hand up into his hair. “And yet here you are. I’m sorry Cas.”

He looked at Dean, his eyes seeming to convey more than even his words. “I don’t regret my choices where you’re concerned. I’ve made countless errors, betrayed many, but I’ve made my choice, and I’d do it again.”

“You’re not a tool for some cause. I mean, I don’t see you that way.” Dean didn’t know how to explain what he was thinking. The reality of the situation seemed to stand in sharp contrast to what he was saying. Cas would be traded for Sam if Andrea died. He’d be traded and Dean would not stand in the way of the trade. Sam was strong, but even he could not last much longer as a captive. Dean pushed aside the worry. He watched Cas’ hands resting on the lounge chair beside his legs. Cas’ fingers curled around the base of the seat a little.

“I know my role in this, but it means much that you see me for who I am. I wanted you to know, and at the same time I fought the urge to just tell you everything. There were so many reasons to take my identity to my grave.”

Dean watched him as he gazed off at the ocean, his eyes catching the sunlight. It was as though they now glowed a little brighter with the wide blue skies above him. Dean thought of what he knew, of the sacrifices that Cas had made. He thought of what Cas had done for Sam, the risks and non-existent rewards. He thought of the friends that Cas had and the feelings that must have come when he ultimately betrayed them. He gave up so much, all of it, seemingly for one man. Dean sucked in a deep lungful of air and reached toward Cas. His fingers tapped the side of his knee as he said, “Your grave?”

“Berlin was death to me.” Cas remained focused on Dean as he said it.

“It was more than that though. We’re not talking metaphors here.” Dean watched for the tell, and wasn’t disappointed. “We didn’t talk about what happened after you went to Sam, after Uriel arrived.”

“Sam took care of Uriel, and you tortured information out of him before he was traded for Benny. There’s hardly anything else to say on the matter.” Cas looked away again.

“He followed you there,” Dean said.

“He did.” It was a statement in tone. Cas did not seem as though he’d elaborate.

“So he knew that you went to see Sam. He knew because he followed you there. But you worked with him after that. He came home and you worked with him when Sam was captured.”

“Yes.” Dean did not think that it was possible for Cas to be any more cagey.

“Well?” Dean waited a beat then asked, “Cas, come on. What happened? He came home after more than a month with me and my people. We broke him. I broke him. You can’t tell me that he just came home and didn’t say a word about you being the cause of it all.”

“He said nothing.”

“Not possible.”

Cas huffed out a bit of his frustration and said, “I lived in fear, when Uriel returned. I was certain that he knew everything. Sam hadn’t managed to get me out. Your interrogations had been efficient and quick.” He folded his hands together in front of him and rested his arms on his legs. Dean noted the way that he pressed his thumbs into each other. “I went to him while he was in the hospital. There was some rehabilitation that he needed after being with you.”

“He had been difficult. We used isolation, but there was much more than that.” Dean looked away now. He felt a hand on his leg and returned his focus to Cas.

“I don’t harbor any negative feelings toward you concerning that. Uriel was my friend, Andrea too. Andrea would shoot me in the back of the head without batting an eye. My loyalty to her is not so great at the moment. Uriel though is different. I wish there was a way to change his mindset, sway him away from the Soviet cause.”

“But he said nothing about your connection with Sam?”

“Our first visits were quiet and filled with superficial talk. He asked if I’d heard from Andrea. I asked if the nurses were treating him well. We traded words that were meaningless to keep from saying what was beneath the surface of our strategic façades.” Cas’ hands sat clasped in front of him again. “He told me in no shortage of detail about his experiences.”

Dean interrupted, “You mean the interrogation?”

“Yes,” Cas replied. “Uriel was not much for long conversations. He made an exception for this topic. He was so detailed, in fact, that I knew what you’d say when we met again in your cell. I knew about all of it.”

“Why’d he tell you about all of that?”

“He wanted me to feel guilty. I suppose that he wanted to believe that I could still be as I was before. He never fully trusted me, but he made a great show of pretending that he did. I don’t know if he told anyone of my involvement. I know that he went back to work and requested me. It was perhaps his way of saying that he forgave me.” Cas let his head drop a little. “It will be hard for him when he learns of Andrea. He’ll hunt me down if anything happens to her. I’ll understand too.”

Dean thought about this for a moment.  He knew that Cas would not be able to walk back into his old life if a trade occurred. It bothered him that Cas might suffer for Sam, for him. He redirected the conversation. “Maybe we should go check on the little patient that could. She might be waking up, and I’d like to just be sure that all is right in that universe.”

They both got up at nearly the same moment, and it brought them closer together. Cas said, “After you.” He waved a hand at the space ahead of them. Dean felt the knife that he had in his jacket pocket disappear. He did nothing to stop or acknowledge the act. They moved off together toward Andrea’s room.

Once again the doctor waved them off, and Dean was left wondering how they’d kill the time when Cas said, “Let’s stop in at the room.”

“You need something from there?” Dean looked at him past a raised brow.

“Just need to check something.” He moved ahead of Dean toward the room.

He got to their door several steps ahead of Dean. “They supposedly have some entertainment on the upper deck later,” Dean offered up as they entered the room. It was not even noon though, and the offer was feeble. Dean closed the door behind him and stared at Cas’ back as he stopped in the middle of the room. It was noticeably quiet, and Cas was noticeably still. “Hey there Cas. You okay?” Dean started to move away from the door toward him.

Cas turned back to him. He moved in two quick strides, effectively driving Dean back against the door. He pressed his chest to Dean’s. He ran his hands up over Dean’s body from his hips to his sides to his chest. He pressed his palms there. “I’m not your prisoner.” He brought his lips close to Dean’s as he said the  words. “And I know you let me take the knife. You want this too.”

“I’m still armed,” Dean said.

Cas let his eyes dart down from Dean’s face to his chest. He moved his hands slowly from Dean’s chest over his ribs around to the back of him. He dipped his hands down toward Dean’s waistband, where the gun had been tucked. He ran his hands over the holster strapped to Dean’s back. He looked back sharply at Dean’s face. “You’re not.” He moved away from Dean then and into the bedroom. Dean followed a few steps behind him. Cas began pulling out the weapons that he had taken from Dean, laying them out on the end of the bed in a neat line.

Dean watched him in silence as he pulled out guns and knives. He held up a long hunting knife with a handle made of bone. He raised an eyebrow and looked at Dean as if to ask for the story behind such a weapon. “It has sentimental value,” Dean said.

“Hardly a reasonable weapon to be casually carrying.” He went back to the guns and lifted the small one that had been tucked into the strap at his ankle. “And this one?”

Dean looked down at it then began moving the weapons to the table behind them. Once he had finished moving them off the bed he picked up the small gun and said, “This one saved me once in Poland. My accent slipped and my cover was blown.” He set it back down. “MacLeod actually gave me that.” Dean moved to the chair next to the table and sat down. He popped one leg up onto the other and began taking off his shoe.”

Cas watched him then moved closer to the table. His long fingers danced over the knives and the spaces between them. “And this one?” He stopped on a small blade that Dean had kept in the underside of his holster. He tried to recall when Cas could’ve gotten to it.

“I’ve never had occasion to use it on a person. I did use it once to cut myself free from some rather uncomfortable bindings.” Dean finished removing his shoes and returned his leg to the floor. He leaned forward and removed his jacket, revealing his crisp white button up underneath and the leather holster that ran over his shoulder. “Sam used to call that little knife the pig sticker.” He chuckled a little as he recalled it. He gently folded the jacket and set it on the table behind the weapons. He noted how the pockets were all empty.

Cas moved to stand directly in front of him. Dean’s legs fell open a bit more so that they surrounded Cas. He looked up at him for several breaths, wondering where all of this would lead and knowing full well where all of it was going. Cas’ hands were still at his sides. He broke his gaze with Dean and looked at the gun on the edge of the table. “This was the last gun I took from you.” Dean felt the emptiness at his back where the gun had been. “I’m not your prisoner, Dean.”

Dean reached out a hand to him then. He took Cas’ wrist and drew the hand to him. “I’m still armed.” He set Cas’ hand on his chest, pressing his own hand flat to the back of it. His heartbeat was coming fast now, and Cas surely felt it there. He was looking at Dean like he couldn’t read him. His eyes grazed over his face, dropping down to his throat and chest. He took a step back and let his gaze roam freely over Dean.

“Bullshit.” Cas’ one word came out with a hint of the old Russian tone. Despite himself, Dean felt his lip curl up into a smirk. In response Cas moved back up close. He ran his hands over Dean’s chest. “Nothing.” He slowly removed Dean’s shoulder holster. Dean leaned forward to help.

Cas moved his hands to Dean’s back and fanned out his fingers there, feeling over Dean’s tense lines of muscles. He raked his hands down to the small of Dean’s back and then dropped to his knees. His hands fell lower over the curve of Dean’s ass as he did so. He looked up at Dean past his long, thick lashes. He looked so submissive in that moment, and yet Dean knew full well who had all the power now.

“You don’t know what you’re looking for.” Dean felt his voice hitch a little as Cas’ fingers gave him a little squeeze on their way to the sides of his thighs.

“Doesn’t matter.” Cas’ voice was low now, layered with purpose. “You want me to find it or at least mount a long and thorough search.” It was his turn now to roll his lips up into a smirk. He slowly dragged his fingers to the front of Dean’s pants. He smoothed his hands over Dean’s legs from top to bottom. His brows came together. “Nothing.” He moved his hands back up to Dean’s belt.

“The belt is not a weapon, but it could be if I wanted it to be one.” Dean watched Cas’ fingers as they fumbled at the belt until he could pull it off. He set it aside and unpopped the button on Dean’s pants.

“So, was that the last weapon, your belt?” He looked at Dean like he thought that the belt was a pathetic excuse for a weapon.

“No, I’m still armed.” Something in Cas’ face fell a little. Dean could see him, the minute ticks and pauses in his features that said he was confused, might forever be confused. He could just tell him, but he wasn’t ready.

Cas looked up at him, all seriousness and focus. He pulled at Dean’s pants, managed to get them partially off. His face was close to Dean, just over his legs. He could feel his hot breath ghosting over his thigh. He closed his eyes a moment and willed himself into a place of calm that was fleeing. His body was responding to the nearness of Cas. The blood was pooling low, sending out a throb of want that was almost painful. He opened his eyes when he felt Cas’ fingers running a trail up the entirety of his legs. They circled to the back of his thighs and up into the underside of his boxers.

Cas brought his face closer, leaning his cheek against Dean’s thigh. Dean shook out of the pants without causing Cas to move away from him. Cas tipped his head back and Dean felt the electric current of his rough chin scraping over his thigh as he moved. He wanted to feel that again, everywhere. Cas’ lips were parted just so slightly. His tongue darted out to lick his lips. Dean imagined that tongue on him, running over his legs, cradling his cock.

Dean would surrender. Cas wasn’t his prisoner. Dean was his. Dean reached down and began unbuttoning his shirt. He slipped it off and was left with just his boxers, his undershirt, his socks, and ankle straps. Cas reached down to remove the items at Dean’s feet a bit more. He set them aside so gently that Dean almost laughed. Cas started to reach up to grip the boxers. Dean took ahold of his hands though and pulled him up. He took off his undershirt and tossed it aside. Cas stood in front of him waiting. Dean pulled his hand to him and kissed his knuckles gently. “I’m still armed.” He pressed Cas’ hand to his chest just over his necklace and his heart.

“Armed with too many layers of clothing.”

“And a weapon.”

Cas slid his free hand down into Dean’s boxers. He took hold of him in a quick, firm grip. “You’re not.” He leaned into Dean and dragged his cheek along the edge of Dean’s neck. Dean sucked in a deep fast start of a breath as Cas increased the movements of his hand. “Tell me to stop.” His lips brushed up over the shell of his ear. “Tell me, Dean, and I’ll stop. Tell me you don’t want this.”

Dean groaned, and his hips pitched forward with Cas’ efforts. “I always wanted this.” Cas’ lips pressed into his temple and slowly glided down his jawline. “I’m still armed.”

Cas stepped away and looked at him. He was no longer touching Dean, and the absence felt like too much emptiness, like all the loss of ten years, and Dean couldn’t take it. He snatched up Cas’ hand and pressed it back to his chest. “Tell me.” Cas stared at him.

Dean reached back behind his neck and undid the clasp on his necklace. It was a crude face hanging on the end of a chain. “Sam gave it to me before the war. I had it modified later for other purposes.” He reached behind Cas’ neck and fastened the necklace on him.

Cas let his hand fall from Dean as he reached down to the necklace and pinched the little face in his fingers, holding it away from him for better scrutiny. “What is it?”

Dean turned it over for Cas and showed him the back. “It comes apart here. Don’t open it. It’s a bitch to put back together.” Dean let it go then. “Has a cyanide tablet inside.” He met Cas’ eyes then. “It’s a weapon against myself. Something to keep me from hurting anyone if I get caught.”

“This doesn’t count, Dean.” His voice was a barely there whisper. He leaned in close then and cupped Dean’s cheek in one hand. “I wanted more for you than this. I imagined more for you than this.”

“What do you mean?” Dean felt his head tipping a little into Cas’ hand. Cas’ fingers flexed a little, and Dean felt the warmth in the touch.

“All those years ago, in the dark. I curled up against you and breathed in as much of you as I could. Then, years later, I found ways to know of you, to be sure you were okay. I needed you to be free of the dangers, the life. But you just couldn’t find some safe path for yourself. You had to turn to....” He waved a hand in the air, signifying everything. “All of this.”  He huffed out a rough sigh.

Dean watched him a moment before saying, “Pretty sure that’s the pot calling the kettle black. You certainly didn’t take the safest route.”

“You’re right. I didn’t.” He reached for Dean and held his face between his hands. “I remember every detail of the time we spent together in the war. I remember thinking, _how did someone like this end up here?_ You’d seen things that destroyed lesser men, but you were still kind and good. I heard it in your tone when you’d talk of home. I began imagining impossible scenarios where we would survive and somehow want the same things from each other. The more I thought about it, the more I convinced myself that I was wrong, or at the very least I was selfish for thinking that I needed to have all that from you.”

Dean fixated on his face. He traced out the lines near his eyes that he wanted to kiss. He reached out and settled his hand on Cas’ hip. “I felt you kiss my head that night that we slept curled up with each other. I told myself that I imagined it. I didn’t though, right?”

“I wanted more than that. It took a great sum of will to not try for more.” Cas moved forward a little, his thumb tracing back and forth over Dean’s cheek. “I could feel it then, how much you cared about everything, your family, everything. I had shut down a lot of that before the war. I found that caring so much, for me, was a liability. It was better to be a tool for my people. I had to view everyone as something else, something to be studied. Then there was you.” His forehead dropped to rest against Dean’s. “I don’t think that I would have survived the war if I had done anything more with you that night. I’d have thrown it all away, the mission, the whole world that I knew, even my family. I’d have needed to do more than just follow your life choices from afar.”

“We would have figured it out,” Dean whispered into the humid space between them. He was entirely conscious of Cas’ body, the reactions he seemed to be having to their nearness. It was the same for him too.

“No, in the end I was right. What would have come of my mother, my sister? I had no means by which to save them back then. Time helped me solve for that. If I would have chosen you back then, I’d have lost them.” He licked his lips and said, “Now, however, is different. They are safe, and we are here.” Cas dropped one hand down to Dean’s chest and settled his palm there in the space over his heart where the necklace had been. “Can I tell you something, Dean?”

“Of course.” He swallowed and it seemed loud in the silent space around them.

“I’m not sure what is right or wrong anymore. I just know that this feels right and good. I’m afraid of what that means.”

Dean licked his lips and said, “Afraid?”

Cas looked at him steadily after that. “I fear that I may not survive this.” Cas’ eyes dipped away from Dean’s. They seemed to be focused on his lips, but it was hard to tell in the small gap of space that existed between them. “I’ve imagined you in every possible way. I’ve touched every inch of you. I know you down to the molecules of your being. I’ve tasted you, and I’ve filled you up with all that I had to give. Yet now…” He licked his lips again, and Dean brought his other hand up to rest on Cas’ side, his thumb immediately moving in an arc over his ribs. Dean was going to kiss him. He moved just slightly, but Cas moved his other hand to Dean’s chest, pressing it alongside the first to stop him. “If I have you, I won’t ever want to stop.”

“I don’t see anything wrong with that.” Dean took Cas’ hand from his chest and held it. He leaned down still closer, and kissed him. It was a gentle brush of lips. He leaned back and thought of the reasons that Cas would be worried, why he would think that he’d ever need to stop. “You’re not going back. You’re not ever going back.” He cupped Cas’ face in his hand as he made his point. His thumb swept back over Cas’ cheek. “I’ve found you. I’ve finally found you.” Dean moved slowly back toward him, planning to kiss away the fear. Cas met him halfway, their lips brushing slowly together again, then harder.

When they parted for a breath, Dean’s hands were clinging to Cas, holding him close to his chest despite the fact that their lips had parted. Cas said, “I want you. I wanted you then. I just couldn’t see a way.”

“I would have moved heaven and earth to have gotten you out.”

Cas moved his hands up to Dean’s cheeks and held his gaze. “And I think I knew that. I had responsibilities though. I told myself, even then, that once I got them out, once they were safe, that I could maybe have some sort of freedom too.  It would have been just a matter of time, and I could have found my way to you. Wasn’t even sure if you would have wanted that, but it was a goal, something to dream on, even if I couldn’t really believe that it could be more than a dream.”

Dean interrupted, “But then they got Sam.”

“Yes, they did. And I know how important he is to you. And he is a good man. I volunteered for an easy drop into West Berlin. I made sure to be seen. I was sloppy and it worked. I hadn’t planned to get shot, but that seemed to help in a way.” The liar’s wrinkle made an appearance between his brows again, and Dean noted it. “At least now they’ll have reason to believe I was loyal to them if I get sent back. Well, Uriel won’t believe it, but maybe the others will.”

Dean decided not to argue. The time for talking was done. Cas gave up everything he was, the safety and comfort he had back home to save Sam. He was standing here now, betraying his country and all that he knew for him, for Dean. He could learn the rest later, call him on his bullshit. Now, all he wanted was to feel him, know what it was to share the warmth of his body. Dean leaned in and dragged his lips from the corner of Cas’ mouth to his temple. He slowly nuzzled his way down to his neck tasting the soapy cleanness of Cas’ skin.

For his part, Cas began running his hands around to Dean’s back. He pulled him in close, their chests pressed solidly together. Dean moved his mouth back to Cas’ and sucked in his bottom lip. Cas pushed him against the back of the chair and stepped away a little. Dean’s hands were back at his sides. “You okay?”

“I just needed to breathe, to just look at you.” Dean’s lips curled up into a grin, all bravado. “Get up.” There was a low tone of command in Cas’ voice that sent a shiver down the length of Dean’s body.

Dean slowly moved to stand in front of the chair. Cas’ back was to the bed. Dean thought of pushing him back onto it. Cas’ breathing seemed to catch as Dean moved toward him. Cas’ eyes drank it all in. “Enjoying the show?” Dean always went for the easy lines when he felt awkward. He never was a hundred percent comfortable with himself or with people admiring his looks. Cas reached down and undid his pants, letting them fall to the floor. His fingers, long and dextrous, made quick work of the buttons on his shirt. Dean reached out and pushed it off his shoulders.

“I fear that I may not survive this,” Cas said again.

“You keep saying that.” Dean’s eyebrow rose as he smirked. He felt momentarily braver. Dean scooped him up, and Cas wrapped his legs around him, as Dean walked them both, chest to chest, to the other side of the bed.

Dean laid Cas down on the bed and stood back up. Cas tracked his moves with predatory eyes. Dean stalked into the bathroom where he knew there would be certain necessities. The ship usually had a small bottle of lotion and some soap on the counter. Dean picked up the lotion and came back to the bed. “You’ll need to take those off.” Dean pointed at the pants that Cas still wore.

Cas had not moved from the position that Dean had left him in. He looked down at his half-clothed body and undid his pants. He tossed them along with his boxers and socks to the floor near Dean’s feet. Dean reached down and set the lotion on the nightstand and then crawled slowly, languidly over the mattress to Cas. Dean’s legs and arms framed Cas as he lay back onto the mattress. He breathed out, “Dean,” and Dean kissed the name off his lips. Dean eased down to him by slow degrees, feeling the glorious press of their bodies increase with each second that passed.

Dean sat up, straddling Cas’ lap, and reached over to the nightstand for the lotion container. He opened it and poured some into his open palm. He took Cas in hand and stroked the length of him. Cas’ head tipped back and his eyes closed. He moaned in pleasure with each stroke. Dean had done this with himself, with others, enough times to know what felt good. Cas bucked into his hand, a sharp electric jolt of movement like he couldn’t control himself, like he’d never been touched before and didn’t know what it was to feel all of this.

Dean let Cas go, and Cas whimpered in protest. “Want you more. Seems like I might end this a little too quickly though if we keep going like this.”

Cas replied to that by flipping Dean onto his back. “Wouldn’t want to disappoint you.” He took the lotion from Dean. First he moved Dean’s legs up and then pressed them out to the sides. Dean didn’t complain about the slight sting he felt in his overtaxed muscles. Cas poured a generous amount of lotion into his hand and lowered his face to Dean’s leg. He kissed Dean’s knee and moved slowly, dragging his lips along Dean’s skin to his thigh. His hand slid back to Dean’s ass.

Cas worked by touch. His finger eased into Dean as he sucked a mark into his thigh just north of the back of his knee. Dean felt his muscles clench hard around the intrusion. He smiled at Cas though, and relaxed into the probing motion that came after. His eyes rolled back a little as Cas pushed deeper, seeking out Dean’s prostate. When he found it, Dean breathed out a shaky little sigh, and said, “Feels so good.”

His stubbled chin rubbed at Dean’s thigh as he slowly kissed his way up Dean’s leg. He nuzzled into Dean a little before taking him into his mouth. Dean didn’t mean to roll his hips into the pleasure of Cas’ mouth, but he did. Cas hummed around him and seemed to smile. Dean opened his eyes and saw that Cas was watching him as he moved slowly up and down over Dean. He added a second finger and pressed slowly alongside the first. Dean couldn’t keep his eyes open.

Time felt slow and warm. Dean felt like everything was there in that room. Cas added a third finger to his efforts. Dean wanted him, had always wanted him, and now Dean felt like he had waited long enough. Dean reached down to him and grabbed Cas’ shoulders, pulling him up to him. “Please, Cas.”

Cas braced his arms on either side of Dean’s shoulders and leaned down to kiss him again. It was a gentle kiss that didn’t press for more. Dean found some untold reserve of patience, but even that was waning fast. He settled his hands on Cas’ hips and hoped that it’d remind him to move them toward the goal.

“Even with all the things that I learned about you over the years, I never learned how impatient you were.” Cas smiled in a way that made Dean want to roll him over and take charge. He wanted to feel him inside and out. He wanted to change the look on his face, make him fall apart. But for now, Cas just looked down at him with smug satisfaction, knowing full well what he was doing to Dean.

Then he moved, and Dean breathed out, “Finally,” as Cas got more lotion and rubbed it over himself. He looked down at Dean with a tenderness that seemed to scrape away the harshness that had filled Dean’s daily existence. Dean could see days and weeks, months and years, of coming home to something like this, to a face that would look at him like he mattered, like he meant something. To be more than a blunt little instrument, a cog in the great machine for just some part of the day would be everything. Dean looked into Cas’ eyes and saw how easily he could have that. Cas dipped down to him and kissed him quick. He loomed back up and lined himself up with Dean. He pressed forward and slowly entered him. Dean held his breath and waited for him to move, but Cas just looked down at him and stayed still.

Dean moved a little for him, but Cas rested his hands on Dean’s shoulders and said, “Be still.” Cas closed his eyes. “I’m overwhelmed by you.” He opened his eyes after a moment and then moved a little. Dean held him. Dean made sure to move his hands slowly around him, from his hips to his back as Cas rocked into him. Cas began moving faster, his eyes falling closed again. He leaned in closer with each thrust. He eventually was so close that it felt to Dean like they were breathing each other’s air.

Dean took a chance on movement and met each of Cas’ thrusts with a slight bucking of his own hips. Cas moaned out a pleasure filled sound and Dean did it again, and again. The static charge of electricity that ran through him with each brush of his prostate shook him to his core.  When Cas came, a shudder of a breath rushing out of him, his legs shaking as he slumped down, Dean came too. Everything was a bright hot light in his eyes and the full weight of Cas in his arms. He held him, and matched the rise and fall of Cas’ chest with his own.

Cas’ lips puffed out into his hair. He could feel the slight pressure of several kisses there. Dean smiled and held him tighter, determined to keep him, determined to never let him go no matter what the world threw at them.

* * *

 

They would have four nights total on the ship, and they’d already survived two of them. When they finally emerged from the room the next day, they spent time in the medical rooms and watched for changes in Andrea while eating as much food as the staff had laid out for them. By the evening of the third day, they decided that Andrea was not going to do a thing beyond being unconscious. They finished off the most recent meal that had been brought to them and wandered back to their cabin. It was nice there, an entire other world, separate from anything even remotely real.

Dean worried that it all would just fade to black and he’d be back in his lonesome, sad existence again. For his part, Cas made subtle efforts toward chasing that all away. He’d walk close to Dean in the halls of the ship, letting their hands brush softly with each step. He’d make sure that his foot was pressed to the side of Dean’s foot as they sat in the medical cabin.

And, now at least, back to their room, the door closing behind them, they could let the charade end. They’d spiral around each other, clothing lost in the storm. They’d capture time together and stretch it out, make it theirs. Dean felt like he had years to find and learn in Cas’ arms. He marveled at how quickly they moved into the comfort of each other after all that had transpired before, after all the years that they each spent apart.

There were so many questions, so many things just begging to be said, but Dean never quite felt like the timing was right. He wanted to know what Cas expected, what he wanted, what he’d seen, what he knew. Volumes could be written in answer, and if he asked that would take time from their current pursuits. Dean thought that it might be selfish, but he didn’t want to lose this even if it meant he wouldn’t know things for just a little longer.

After all, he had no plans for losing Cas. That was why it hurt so much when reality slammed into him so unexpectedly.

* * *

 

By the fourth day, the SS United States was close to port. Dean sat across from Cas in the dining hall finishing off their evening meal, trying not to look smug. He’d dropped innuendos into every bit of their conversation. Cas just smiled at him and sometimes replied in kind. Dean detected a bit of melancholy hanging over him as the meal came to an end. “You okay?”

“I am.” He lifted his wine glass to his lips and took a sip. It was a tawny port. Dean was already looking forward to tasting it again on Cas’ lips back in their room.

“You seem like you’re not really here, which I get. I’m jumping forward about an hour myself here, but…” He tapped his foot to the side a little into Cas. Lowering his voice, he repeated, “You okay, really?”

“Yeah.” He paused a beat before adding, “Never been a fan of endings. Tonight feels like an ending.”

Dean wanted to reach out, take his hand and whisper comfort. Instead he pulled out his bravest tone and added a smile, saying “This ain't an ending. By my reckoning it's more like a beginning.”

Cas pushed away from the table and said, “I'm gonna take a walk on the upper deck. Why don't you get a nightcap at the bar and meet me up there in a few.”

Dean didn't stop him. Something in him understood. They'd been safe here, their only duty was to be sure that Andrea made it home without killing anyone else. That was easy enough given her present situation. The hard part was to come, the living in the real world part. _Maybe they could leave the life, tuck into some desert island somewhere._

He watched Cas walk out before he got up from his table. The bar wasn't far. He made his way gracefully around the finely attired socialites and tuxedo-wearing men. Dean leaned into the bar and waited for the bartender to notice him.

“What can I get you?”

“A whiskey, on the rocks.” Dean waited and let his eyes curl over the crowd. He wanted to give Cas long enough to collect his thoughts. Being here felt counterproductive though.

He finished off the drink, not taking enough time to really savor it, and walked out past the band that played old tunes that wafted out the door after him. He breathed in the night air, the fresh sea mist that seemed to cover everything.

Dean made his way to the upper deck. He could see Cas before he was even close. He was leaning on the railing, looking out at the water. His hands were folded in front of him like he'd been praying.

A little breeze flowed over the ship, making Cas’ dinner jacket flutter at the ends. Dean stepped into the space at his side and tipped his head into a glance.

“I'm sorry, Dean.” His voice was quiet in the cool night.

“What do you have to be apologizing for?”

“Making your life complicated. Being selfish. Wanting you despite the consequences.” Cas looked back at him. Dean noticed the way his face shifted through a number of emotional tells as he spoke.

“Why do you sound so defeated? Do you think I'm dumping you off at the next port? Think I'm gonna rush back to my empty apartment without you?” Dean was trying to figure it all out. Cas was a bit of a mystery though. They had both spent a lifetime living lies.

“I'll be hunted if I run away with you. And if I'm hunted and you're with me, that'll put you at risk. I won't put you in danger.”

Dean's brows came together in irritation. “Cas, not sure if you've noticed, but danger's kinda my middle name. Knowing you hasn't made that worse. It's just who I am, who I was even before you came along.”

He didn't respond, just sighed into the night like he wanted to drop it. Dean moved his hand along the rail, cast a glance around to see if it was safe, and took Cas’ hand in his.

“We hand off Andrea at the exchange. You'll stay at the safe house and wait for me. I'll have Sam. We’ll go home. Easy as pie.” Dean gave his hand a squeeze and added, “And when Sam's okay again, and Bobby, then you and me,” he gestured between them, “we're gonna get outta Dodge.”

Cas let go of his hand and looked at him confused. “I don't understand that reference. Dodge?”

Dean smiled, “Means we're gonna leave all this. Means we're gonna find a little place somewhere. Doesn't have to be much. It just had to be ours. Maybe a beach house or a ranch somewhere.”

Cas smiled back at him with a fondness that seemed a little sad, like he couldn't believe it could be true. “Do you know of a place? Something like that. Somewhere safe?”

“Yeah, Cas. I do. And you're gonna be there with me. Have a little faith.” A few people had migrated out to the deck for the last night on board the ship. Dean noticed movement to his left that was someone approaching them.

“Mr. Winchester.” Dean turned to the voice and saw a young, sandy-haired man nervously standing a few steps from him. “The captain wishes to speak with you,” he finished.

Dean turned to Cas and said, “This probably won't likely be long. I'll see you back at the room in a few.” Dean usually met with the captain at the end of the journey to discuss the removal of sensitive cargo among other things.

Cas gave him a nod and went back to staring over the railing at the sea. When they moved past the hall leading to the captain's quarters, Dean came to a halt. The crewman said, “This way Mr. Winchester.”

“Where's the captain?” Dean continued following him.

“I was told not to discuss matters until you were brought to the doctor's office, especially if you were accompanied.” Dean thought about this, and followed at a slower pace. He noted the way that the crewman moved. Dean’s eyes trailed down his body to his hands clutched at his sides. He was twenty if he was a day, and Dean remembered what it was to be that age, all cocky brashness. He moved his eyes up to the boy’s neck, where his throat bobbed in a nearly audible swallow, a single bead of sweat ran down to his collar.

Dean kept walking until they came to a secondary hallway that the boy did not take. Dean grabbed him by the arm though and forcefully directed him into it. He found a room that was open and moved him inside. “What’s happening? Tell me now.”

He stammered and said nothing. “We need to go to the medical rooms.”

“Look, you need to tell me what happened, and you need to make it quick.”

“Nothing. Nothing happened. The captain needs to see you.” He was a bit of a whimpering mess, and Dean could see that he had frightened him even more than he had been before. The guy was flying into a high state of panic.

Dean dialed it down. “We’ve met before right? Remind me your name.” Dean schooled his voice into a calm place.

“Alfie. I was assigned to take care of your things on your last visit.” He was breathing in a ragged fashion. Dean loosened his grip and stepped back from him a little.

“Okay, Alfie. Yeah, I remember you. You were meticulous, and the captain spoke highly of you.” Dean waited a beat, let the compliment sink in. “Now, I’m gonna need you to tell me what happened.”

“I can’t. If I do, she’ll kill Sarah.” Alfie looked like he was losing it again.

“Look at me, Alfie.” Alfie looked up into Dean’s face. “Now, I’m gonna let you in on a little secret. I’m not your run-of-the-mill passenger. If you tell me what you know, no one dies.” Dean pulled out his gun and held it at his side. Alfie was shaking now. He focused on the gun in Dean’s hand. “Now tell me everything, so I can save your friend.”

Alfie looked back up into Dean’s eyes and said, “Sarah had a headache, so I walked with her to go see Doc. He had us sit in his waiting room, and he went into the back to get the aspirin. But when he went into the other room, there was a noise, and we heard him say something. Then there was a crashing sound, and he didn’t respond when we called out to him. I thought he fell. Sarah and I went in to see if he was okay, and that’s when this woman grabbed Sarah. She had a scalpel in her hand. Doc was bleeding on the floor. Bruno was there too. Looked like his neck was broke. I didn’t know what to do.”

“It’s okay, Alfie.” Dean gave his arm a little squeeze and tried to get him focused again. “So, what’d she do next?”

“She asked me if I knew you.” Alfie looked away like he felt bad. “I said I did.”

“That’s fine. It’s good that you knew who I was. It saved you both, made you useful to her.”

“She said that I needed to go find you, and say that the captain wanted to talk with you in here. She said not to let anyone else know anything, and that I wasn’t to talk to anyone but you. She said if I told you anything, she’d kill Sarah right in front of me.” He was shaking again.

Dean let him go and said, “When you left, she was still in the back room?”

“Yes.”

“Is there any other way into the room?”

“No. It just has the one door.”

“You aren’t going with me.” Alfie looked like he was going to protest. Dean continued, “I want you to go to my quarters. The man I was speaking with on the upper deck will be there now. I want you to tell him what you told me.” Dean didn’t want to say it out loud, but if he didn’t make it, he wanted to be sure that Cas had a shot at escaping her.

Alfie moved a little. “You won’t let her die?”

“Don’t worry, Alfie. I’m a professional. Now go do what I said.” His voice sounded more confident than he felt. Alfie left at a near run. Dean slipped back out to the hall. He moved his gun into his pocket, but he didn’t let it go.

He was painfully aware of how loud his shoes sounded on the walk. Dean rounded the corner to the office. The door was closed. Thankfully, no one was in the hall. It was the last night at sea, and everyone wanted to dance the night away and stargaze on the upper decks. Dean thought he’d be there too, with Cas, if it weren’t for this. He moved slowly to the door. He pulled out his gun and lifted it. He slowly opened the door and moved into the room, careful not to make a sound. He quietly closed and locked the door behind him. The outer room was empty and quiet. He eased toward the back room, knowing that this was where Alfie had said they were.

Dean considered the situation. She had been recovering from a knife wound to the chest. She was in critical condition. The doctor even said that her chances were fifty-fifty. And here he was worrying now that she might get the drop on him. She had taken down the guard that the captain had assigned to her room, a guy nearly 400 lbs and six and a half feet tall. He was all muscle and grit, and she broke his neck. If he believed in the paranormal, he’d claim that Andrea was not human. Her strength and skill in the art of the kill were unparalleled.

She knew he was there, and worse, she knew that he was aware of the situation. Dean knew this because it was too quiet. He moved to the door to the back office, reached out to open it, when a voice hit his ear. “Don’t bother.” She’d moved quietly, so quietly in fact that he hadn’t heard her.

He turned. She was standing in the niche on the other side of the room, the space where the doctor stored some of his equipment. “Andrea. Let her go. No one has to get hurt here.” He didn’t lower his gun. She had her hostage in front of her, scalpel to her throat. Normally, he wouldn’t hesitate. He’d take the shot. He was good enough to hit her and spare Sarah, but Andrea was quite good too, so he hesitated.

“Where is Krushnic?” She asked.

“I left him in the cabin,” Dean said. His voice was rough and angry. He moved slowly to the side, but she countered his move. “What do you want?”

“Freedom, liberty, _viva la revolucion_ …” She laughed, a rich mirthless laugh, and Sarah seemed to shake more in Andrea’s arms. “Lower your gun.”

Dean didn’t lower his gun. Instead he moved a step toward her. She pressed her scalpel into the flesh of Sarah’s neck, drawing blood and a whimper. “Don’t scream, love. Don’t you dare scream. I wouldn’t want anyone else coming in here, not with me feeling all this rage.”

Dean lowered his gun, but he didn’t let it go entirely. “If I’m gonna get out of here in one piece, which I intend, I’m gonna need you.” She leaned into Sarah’s cheek and added, “Sarah here is great, but I don’t think that she’s the kind of hostage that’ll get me home.”

“You won’t be able to get off this ship. Even with me, I don’t see you getting home.” Dean was looking at the space around her. “Best you can hope for is for us to trade you back to your people. You either go along with it, or you go home in a body bag. Take your pick.”

She laughed at him and said, “Why would you trade me when you’ve got Krushnic on tap for the trade? I won’t go back to be interrogated by you. I saw what you did to Uriel. You won’t have me.”

Dean moved closer, making noise with his feet as he did so. He could hear a sound outside the door. He thought that it might be Cas. He had locked the door to prevent anyone from entering accidentally. A side benefit was that it kept Cas from getting into harm’s way. “I’ll trade you first. That’ll be the deal. I won’t interrogate you. I won’t send you back to the States.”

“That’s not how it works. I know the deal. I also know that I’ve killed your men. Someone’s gonna want me to pay for that.” She moved back against the wall and seemed to realize that she was still a little cornered. “I’m gonna need you to put your hands on the wall here.” She nodded at the wall.

“I’m not going to be your hostage.” Dean stood his ground, gun still in his hands. “You need to let her go.”

Andrea laughed at him. “I’m going to give you ten seconds.” Dean could hear noises at the door. He could raise the gun, take the shot, but then she’d be dead, and they’d have nothing to trade but Cas. Dean also realized then what he hadn’t before. She wanted him here. She basically summoned him. She could have hidden herself, waited out the remainder of the journey in some small niche somewhere, but she didn’t. She intended to kill him, maybe because of who he was and what he had done to Uriel, or maybe because she just hated him. She didn’t need him to be her hostage; she already had one. This was personal. “You drop the gun, put your hands on the wall, or I kill this girl.”

“It doesn’t need to be this way, Andrea. We were friends once, you and I, and Benny loved you.”

Her lips curled up into a sneer. “We were hardly friends, and Benny was a fool. Now, hands on the wall.”

Then a distraction that neither of them anticipated happened. The door to the back room opened, and the doctor slumped out, holding his bleeding side. Andrea slit Sarah’s throat, but the cut wasn’t deep. She released her, blood running a little over her hand and onto Sarah’s starched white shirt. “Damn it.” She shoved Sarah toward Dean. He caught her, blood getting on his hands, and shirt. He moved her swiftly to the side where she slumped to the floor.

He aimed his gun at Andrea, but she rushed him. He caught her, and they fell to the floor. She had the scalpel in her hand and slashed at Dean. He grabbed her hand before she could cut him. He was using all his strength to keep her from getting to him. He rolled her off of him, knocking equipment over as they moved. Somehow she ended up back on top of him.

He punched at the area that had been wounded, and she fell back. She recovered quickly though and launched back at him. It was all Dean could do to just keep the scalpel from cutting him. He felt it nick his hand on the back. He punched at her again, but she dodged the blow. They were separate now, but she sent a kick at him that connected with his head. Somehow in the disorientation of the moment, he had lost his grip on his gun. She scrambled toward it.

Dean moved after it, but he was too late. She was sprawled half over him, half over the floor, but her hands had the gun. He rolled under her to get some leverage, send her a kick of his own. She found speed though. She turned back to him and shot toward his leg. Luckily, she hadn’t taken time to aim. The bullet missed. Dean had been pulling his punches a little, worrying that he could kill her if he hit her just wrong, but he needed to be careful. She had the upper hand now.

Dean was moving toward her. He could see how it would play out. He’d go down swinging. She aimed, and would have fired. There was a shot, but it didn’t come from her gun. Blood slowly seeped out of her forehead. The seconds that she remained upright seemed too long. Then she fell face forward. Dean turned. In the doorway behind him was Cas. He stood with a gun in his hands, still aimed at Andrea. He looked powerful and frightening, his leg still firmly in front of him where it had landed when he had kicked the door open. The doorway now framed him in light from the hall, and his dinner attire made him look like he shouldn’t be holding a gun. His face was hard set as he lowered the weapon and stalked forward toward Dean.

“You killed her.” It was all Dean could say as he sat there staring at the blood that pooled out around her. _She’s dead. God, no._ His brain was whirring in shock. All their plans, everything...

“Are you okay?” Cas had his hands on Dean, checking the spaces that were bloody like he needed to find Dean’s wounds and heal them immediately. When Dean didn’t reply, he repeated, “Dean, are you okay?”

“It’s not my blood.” Dean turned his hand, “Well, this is.” He moved away from Cas, and got to Sarah. “We need to help them.” He motioned to the doctor. He was moving and responding in a way that was mechanical. The chaos that comes from such events brought the captain and other crewmen into the medical facility. They managed to keep much from the passengers. In the hours that passed, Dean allowed himself to be distracted by the work. He kept looking at Andrea though, who was, in time, moved to a table.

Neither Sarah nor the doctor died. So he had kept at least that small promise. He couldn’t really look at Cas though. He couldn’t manage it, because with each accidental glance, he was reminded that they had nothing to trade now. Well, nothing except for Cas, and he had said that he wouldn’t let him go.

The worst thing in all the world is a liar, and he was a liar. Every action, every interaction from him was predicated on a lie. His work, half the time his name, was a lie. He sought lies and liars and from them twisted truths. His every waking moment was filled with them. And now, two feet away from him was Cas, the only lie that ever felt like truth. He was as made up as Dean Winchester himself, and yet somehow that had seemed to be okay, better than okay even, because Dean knew his truths, what he really was and always would be. And he was going to trade him for Sam. He felt the muscles in his chest tighten into a spasm of pain. His heart was pounding out a panicked rhythm in his chest.

Cas came to him then and settled a hand on his lower back. “You need to sleep now. You’ve done enough.” Dean let Cas guide him away. The halls were empty now at this late hour. It wouldn’t be long before they were at the port, and then it would all be gone, all of it.

They got into the room, and Cas helped him out of his clothes. It wasn’t seductive or even leading down that path. He went into the bathroom and got it ready for Dean. Cas took off his jacket and shirt and left them on the bed. Dean let Cas direct him into the bathroom and into the waiting tub. It was warm and comforting. Cas lifted a washcloth from the side and dipped it into the water. He smoothed it over Dean’s skin and washed away the blood that had dried in tiny spots on his temple and his hands.

“Cas,” he started and stopped when Cas set two fingers on his lips.

“Don’t talk. Just let your mind rest. If you start, you’ll never let yourself sleep.” He smoothed his hand back into Dean’s hair and leaned him back a little. With his other hand he scooped up some water to wet Dean’s hair. Dean let himself relax into the touch. When Cas was done, he released the drain and stood. Dean stood too, and Cas held out a towel to him.

They walked back to the bed. Cas rummaged through the trunk for some clean boxers for Dean. He held them out to him, and Dean stepped in. Cas shed his own pants at the edge of the bed and pulled back the covers. Dean got in and Cas rounded to the other side. The night sky on the other side of the porthole looked like it was turning to day. Dean closed his eyes sending his world back into the deep dark that the world would be in the days to come. Sleep came to him immediately with Cas at his back, breathing warmth into his neck, the gentle press of his lips in his hair a reminder of the past.

* * *

 

They didn’t speak of what was to come. Dean’s communication devolved into single-word responses and grunted assertions. He felt too many things at once, not the least of which was a growing dread, coupled with a strong sense of futility. They left the ship when it came to the port in England, and were met by Garth who had flown in earlier that day. He took one look at Dean’s expression and knew that something was absolutely wrong.

“Where’s your prisoner?” Garth asked.

Dean looked positively defeated and said, “You’ll have to send Cooper down to pick up the body.” He must have looked miserable, because Garth was always one to reflect back an empathetic expression. Garth looked just as sad as Dean felt.  And though Dean was not one for hugging, Garth was. He pulled Dean in and hugged him like his life depended on it.

Eventually, Dean returned the hug and Garth released him. Dean looked past him like he was expecting someone else to be there. Bobby usually met him when he traveled with Sam. Garth said, “Bobby’s doing well. Doctors said he’ll be released in a couple of days. He’s supposed to take it easy, but you know him. He also got me up to speed on the current situation.” He looked over at Cas to show what he meant.

Dean let out a long held breath. He hadn’t realized just how much he had been worried. “He’s a tough old dog. Take more than a bullet to bring him down.”

Garth nodded in agreement, but his tone dropped a little as he said, “Well, it was pretty close. Doctor said it just missed his spine. Coulda paralyzed him if it didn’t kill him. Lucky for him that she was distracted by the chaos of the other agents coming in.”

“How’d they know there was trouble before the shooting?” Dean asked as they headed from the dock to the waiting car.

“That’d be Miss K. She knew something was wrong and called in a couple of the guys. She was also smart enough to hide while everything went to Hell. She kept Bobby from bleeding out and well, she hasn’t left his side since.” Garth opened the back door for Cas and was about to open the front for Dean, but he slid in next to Cas instead.

Garth rounded the car to the driver’s side and Cas gave Dean a look in the moment while they were alone. Garth got in and Dean asked, “You have the exchange date set yet?”

Garth pulled away from the dock and glanced into the mirror. “I sure do. Looks like we’ll be getting your brother back in just two weeks. I’m taking you to the safe house just outside of London to wait out the time. No sense in you guys going back to the States just to turn around and come back here so soon. Besides, Bobby said to get you to the safehouse in Germany just prior to the exchange.” His voice trailed on and Dean set his mental countdown. He reached across the seat between them and took Cas’ hand, sure that Garth couldn’t see. Cas squeezed his hand back.

Dean leaned forward and asked, “Garth, you don’t happen to have any other options for this exchange do you? I mean, someone other than Krushnic here.” He felt Cas’ hand tighten in his.

Garth seemed to think over the possibilities. “We really don’t have anyone that they want. Andrea would have been a solid trade. I could have gotten that to work, but Sam is important. They won’t take just any minor player for him.” He paused a beat and added, “I’m sorry Mr. Krushnic. Bobby told me that I would need to adjust the trade, try to keep you. It’s why I am here, beyond just picking up Dean.”

“Thank you for your efforts on my behalf. I’m prepared for the trade though, so you do not need to worry over this.” Cas did not look at Dean as he spoke.

Dean leaned back into the seat and watched the land slip by out the window in a blur. It was the grey of the city, then eventually the lush green of the country. They turned off the main road at some point into the drive and made their way down a small, meandering country road. Sometime during the journey, Dean released Cas’ hand, just as he’d release him again in two weeks. He felt himself shutting down.

Garth shut off the car in front of a rustic old stone house surrounded by deep green forest trees. The road in was unpaved and looked like an old hunting trail from the single lane country road. Garth walked them up to the door. He moved to the far room and said, “I’ve got your clothes here. I’ve stocked the pantry. You should have enough to easily get by while I’m gone.”

“Wait, where’re you going?” Dean had assumed that he was going to wait out the time with them, like Bobby did.

“I’m sorry, Dean. I just have last minute touches to spin into the exchange. Normally, I wouldn’t even be the one taking care of this part.” He waved his hand out to signify the small English cottage, the journey, and all that had happened that day. “Plus, Bobby wants me to come back to report out everything to him. See, although it’s not worth it for you both to go back, apparently Bobby thinks I should be flying back and forth half around the world just because he likes the sound of my voice.”  


“You could just call him.” Dean shucked off his jacket and hung it next to the door.

“You know him. He doesn’t like taking chances on things getting intercepted.” Garth moved to the door and said, “I stocked the garage out back. Have a look while I’m gone and remember to thank me when I get back.” He smiled. “See you in twelve days.” With that he left, and Cas and Dean were in a room that was now too silent with too much needing to be said.

“Dean,” Cas started, but Dean stopped him with a sharp look.

“Don’t. Just don’t.”

“What?”

“Don’t try to tell me it’ll be okay. That you’re fine with this. I can’t hear that right now. Just because you were ready to give up the other night on the ship, doesn’t mean I am.” Dean was pacing now, his tone growing more stormy by the second. “I’m gonna figure this out. I’m not ready to toss in the towel yet. I just need you to be with me on this. Just don’t give up.”

“Dean, there is literally nothing that can be done. Garth even said that they have no other trade that is acceptable. We have two weeks.” He moved to Dean’s side and grabbed his arm to stop the pacing. “Please, can we just live out these days like they’re a beginning instead of an ending?”

Dean leveled his gaze at him. “I can’t, Cas. I can’t give up on this, on you.”

Cas moved closer. He took Dean’s face in his hands and kissed him, soft like he feared breaking him. He dropped his hands to Dean’s, which hung loose at his sides. He deepened the kiss, and Dean allowed it. Dean felt Cas moving him from where they were standing. Two steps and Cas released Dean and moved back into the bedroom. Dean followed him and let him guide their actions. He felt like he couldn’t do anything else now. His mind still moved down avenues of possibilities and plans that could never work. He hoped as he ran his hand over Cas’ chest, he hoped as he tasted him again, he hoped as they found synchronicity, that all of this hoping would lead him to a solution. He had to work this out. There had to be a way. Dean felt determined as he kissed him. He felt like the solution had to be there. He just had to find it.

* * *

 

Day sped on into night, and Dean and Cas lingered in their bed. Dean did not share all that he was thinking. He covered his thoughts with kisses and gentle touches. He wore a mask of sorts, his eyes doing nothing to show the fear and worry that he felt with each moment that passed. He considered how he might set up an ambush, rescue Sam before the exchange and keep Cas. He considered setting up an ambush afterwards, where he’d just rescue Cas once the exchange was over.

Neither option sat well with him. To do either, would mean the end of all future exchanges. If an agent was caught, and that seemed to happen a bit too often now, they’d be lost. The thought of any of his agents never coming back, or worse yet, spending years in the conditions that Benny had described, was just too much to even consider. He was selfish though, where Cas was concerned, so he did consider it for nearly a full day before discarding the plan.

Cas did his best to distract him. He whispered things into his ear, slight hopes for a future they’d never have, plans for their lives that they’d never live. At first they made him feel like his body was folding in on itself. The crushing intensity of wanting it all so badly and knowing that it couldn’t be, combined to torture him in the cruelest ways imaginable.

Dean would never admit it, but he also considered other scenarios, other outcomes that would be even more selfish. He couldn’t imagine living when all was said and done, not without some small hope that they could fix this. And in his darkest moments, he couldn’t find that hope.

When he finally dragged himself out of bed on the third morning, it was because there was something being cooked in the kitchen that involved bacon. He moved sluggishly into the space and saw Cas working the stove. “Nice of you to finally join me.” Cas threw a smile at him as his food sizzled in the frying pan. “I’m making breakfast.”

“I see that.” Dean pulled out a chair and flipped it around. He straddled the seat and leaned over the back of it. “Pretty sure I could sleep for another hour.”

“Pretty sure you just need coffee.” Cas handed him a mug. Dean held it and let the steam waft up to his face. “We’re going to go outside today.”

“Oh, really?”

“Really. I want to see the area.” Cas scooped some of the bacon onto a plate and added some eggs. He passed the plate over to Dean and then got some for himself. He pulled out a chair across from Dean and sat down to eat. Dean got up and turned his chair around properly. They faced each other for a moment before Cas said, “Well, eat it. Not like it’s poison. I do have some cooking skills.”

Dean let himself laugh. He also let himself enjoy the meal. “Not sure if we have a car. There’s the garage out back that I haven’t investigated yet. Garth sounded pleased about its contents though.”

They finished the breakfast, and Cas gathered a few items into a satchel to take with them when they went out. He even filled a canteen with water and grabbed a bottle of wine that he had found in the pantry. Dean gave him a look, and Cas said, “You can never be too prepared.” He popped a kiss onto Dean’s cheek and added, “To which, I think you should get a sizable blanket in case we decide to take advantage of a field or something.”

Dean got a blanket out of the bedroom and rolled it up small enough to stuff into the satchel with the food and wine. “You’re assuming that we’ve got a car out there.”

“I’m actually assuming bikes.” He grinned back at Dean as they went out the door and toward the garage.

Dean took hold of the wide flip up door and opened it. They stood together for a moment in surprise. In front of them was a finely polished glimmeringly silver and black Triumph motorcycle. Dean was impressed. He walked around it and peered at it from every angle. It was a truly beautiful piece of machinery. “Garth has outdone himself.”

“It is quite beautiful.”

Dean moved toward the bike, and as he ran a hand over it said, “Hello Baby.” He turned to Cas and added, “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to try this out.”

Dean got on the bike, Cas slung the satchel over his shoulder, and got on behind him, wrapping his arms around Dean’s waist. “Where to?”

“Who knows.” Dean looked back at him and dug up a smile for the moment. He was doing his best to give Cas the feel of a beginning like he wanted. If he couldn’t solve this, couldn’t save him, he didn’t want to let him go without something to carry with him, something good. He hadn’t given up yet, but as the days passed, it was growing more difficult to see a point of light in their future.

He started the engine, and the bike roared to life. He peeled away from the garage and out onto the barely there trail that stretched out away from the safe house, through thick stands of tree. Dean drove fast, the wind slamming into them as they went. The sky was a blur of greens and browns as they raced along. Cas rested his chin on Dean’s shoulder and held on a little tighter as they leaned into one turn then another. The trees began to thin and then there was a vast sea of green rolling hills.

Dean could feel Cas smile into his neck. He wanted more time, more time to just feel that smile, see it show up out of nowhere. He’d spent a virtual lifetime looking for this, for Cas. He slowed up a little and eventually came to a stop at the top of one of the hills. “It’s beautiful here,” Cas said. “I spent half my time in Moscow. The rest I spent in the GDR, but nothing there can hold a candle to this.”

Dean half turned in his seat to really look at him. “Yeah.” He turned off the trail and ran the bike along the upper edge of the hill. In the distance there was a lone tree. It was large, its branches stretching out to form a wide, round canopy. It was the kind of tree you see in paintings, the leaves hanging heavy from the branches, the sun barely trickling through the lushness of it. Dean stopped the bike next to it, and said, “This looks like a good place to kick back.” He let Cas get off the bike first, then he did the same.

Cas walked over to the other side of the tree and pulled off his satchel. He took out the blanket and spread it over the shady grass under the tree. Dean tossed himself down and waited for Cas to join him. Cas stared out away from him at the land that ran for miles into oblivion. He came to Dean and sat next to his sprawled-out form. He looked sad. Dean didn’t know what to do to fix it. His voice was a low graveled whisper. “I hope that Anna gets to see places like this every day.”

“What’s she like?”

“She likes the country, big sky, big land. She wanted to farm and raise animals. She had expressed a desire for a simple life. We would argue over the stupidest of things. She would try to convince me that I could leave the life, come live with her on some farm. She thought that retirement was an option for people like me. It wasn’t, never would be. Sometimes I think she just liked to tell herself that it was, so that she didn’t have to imagine the alternatives for me.” He let out a sigh and continued. “Our lives were on a path from the moment we were born there instead of here or in New York.” He looked at Dean for a second then continued, “We were fated to live out our days in a very particular way. It was like we were living out prophecies, and we all know how that has to go. The Greeks have countless tales of what comes to those that try to rewrite their endings. Nothing good comes from making a new path or even thinking that you can.”

“Bullshit,” Dean interrupted him. “Bullshit.” Dean reached out and took his hand. “Anna was right. We aren’t living in some mythological tale here, Cas. We aren’t fated to anything. We make our paths. Our choices are ours to live with. Yeah, we are born into limiting circumstances, but that doesn’t mean that we just say to hell with it all, why try.”

Cas said, “It’s easy to think that when you’ve been born into better circumstances. You don’t know, Dean.” He didn’t let go of Dean’s hand, but something in his look told Dean that Cas pitied him for not getting it, for not seeing what it was that he lived with on a daily basis.

He couldn’t accept it though. It sounded too much like defeat, so he said, “The world is full of people that chuck the rule book, write their own endings, defy the system. You did that when you worked with Sam to get your mom and sister out. Was that fate or did you free will your family into a better life?”

Cas’ face went through a slight change then, like he was really thinking about it. He smiled at Dean, “I suppose you have a point.” He leaned over to Dean and brushed a kiss over the edge of his lips. “Perhaps there are more points you’d like to make.” He kissed down past Dean’s jaw to his neck. Dean tipped his head back to give him room, already feeling the effect of Cas pressing in close, and still closer.

Dean let himself settle back onto the blanket. Cas hovered over him, moving his legs to either side of Dean’s hips. He dipped down kissed him until Dean couldn’t think of anything but him. Cas settled his body flat on top of Dean, his chin on Dean’s chest. He looked up at his face. Dean brought up his hands and curled them under his head to give himself a better view. “You comfortable?”

“Very.” Cas grinned at him and stayed exactly where he was.

Dean’s mind darted down paths again. He did his best not to show his thoughts though. He asked, “When did your family get out?” He hoped that he could just learn some things without Cas being the wiser.

“A little over six months ago. It took some time to just get it arranged though.” Cas pressed a kiss into Dean’s chest.

Dean pulled a hand out from behind his head and settled it on Cas’ back. “Then you guys caught Benny not long after.” There was a question in the tone. Dean thought he had the timeline of events right, but that wasn’t what he was really after.

Cas raised an eyebrow. “Yes, I had planned to be a good soldier where he was concerned.”

“What do you mean?”

“In most of the interrogations, I’d keep some tells to myself. I didn’t share all that I knew, or all that I noted. I planned to share all that I saw and noted with Lafitte. It was soon after my mother and sister’s so called deaths. I’d need to look like a valuable asset, like I was working hard for the cause. Lafitte would be the sacrifice.” Cas sucked in a breath and tipped his head to the side. He rested his cheek on Dean’s chest and looked off down the hill. Dean rubbed affection into his back.

“Then he started talking about Sam and Bobby.”

“Yes, and I had to change my plans.”

Dean brought out his other hand and hugged Cas, just held him for all he was worth. “Can I ask you about Benny’s interrogation?”

“Of course.” Cas turned his face back up to Dean, settling his chin back onto his chest.

“Did you all take things from him?”

“What do you mean?”

Dean schooled his voice into a tone that he thought sounded casual. “I mean, like his clothes and the necklace Andrea gave him.”

“We didn’t take his clothes. Uriel felt that letting them keep their clothes helped. He thought that it would make them feel like they were in a civilized place with rules and such. It made it more startling when he tortured them.” Dean noted that. _At least I won’t have to figure out the clothing situation for him while mounting a rescue._ He thought of trying to run through the Eastern Block with a very naked Cas. _It’d be so much easier to just not let the exchange happen. Get Sam and then Cas. Go out with guns firing. That might not be reasonable though._

Cas was looking at him now, like he was trying to piece together the reasons for Dean’s questions. Dean said, “Benny came home with the necklace.”

“We didn’t take it from him.” Cas raised a brow. “Why are you concerned about it?”

“Was just thinking that maybe the necklace was more than a necklace.” Dean hadn’t been thinking that before, but he was now. He was really looking for information on procedures and protocols. Ways that he could maybe have Garth rig up something that wouldn’t get taken from Cas, something of the weapon variety.

Cas sat up and looked down at him. “He still has the necklace?”

“Yes. I saw him the day that Andrea unleashed Hell on the facility. We didn’t talk of much, but maybe Bobby dropped some telling lines in there, and that coupled with my visit, maybe was enough.”

“I’d assume that the necklace is more than a necklace.” Cas’ head dropped a little. “I’m sorry that I seem to offer up helpful information only after the damage is done. “We don’t take away the jewelry of our prisoners for the same reason that we don’t take their clothing. We did take Sam’s ring to send home, but that was different. I imagine that Lafitte’s necklace may have had a greater importance.”

“Did you ever talk with him like you did with Sam?” Dean watched for any tells in Cas’ face. He’d gotten some of the information that he had wanted. This question was just extra.

“No. I didn’t offer him any comfort. As I said before, I felt some level of animosity toward him for all that he had shared. I know that your opinion of him differs from mine, but that hardly changes how I had felt about him then.” Cas was tracing circles lightly over Dean’s chest. Dean had asked about habits and favorite places in the GDR before when they were lying in bed back at the safehouse. He’d been subtle before, mapping out the areas that Cas had mentioned. He felt like he had a sense of where he was working and where he would be if he were returned to his people.

Dean filed away the new information, and decided to move them away from conversation. It would be easier to cover what he was thinking if there was action involved. Cas was watching his face. Dean let a wide grin bloom over his face. It reflected what he was actually feeling in the moment. In a flash, he flipped their positions so that Cas was flat on his back.

He felt some measure of hope. A plan was forming. Dean wanted to celebrate. Cas laughed at him for his sudden enthusiasm. Dean had not exactly been Mr. Joyful since they’d left the ship. He’d worn a mask of happiness for Cas, but he hadn’t felt it. He felt it now though. He kissed him, and moved his hands to Cas’ sides. He sat back and worked at the buttons on Cas’ shirt. He could feel Cas starting to shift like he was going to reverse their positions.

“Don’t you dare,” Dean growled out at him. “Stay put.” He slipped a hand behind Cas’ neck and pulled him up into a kiss, deep and messy. He slowly lowered him back to the blanket and ran his lips down to Cas’ jawline and then his neck. He eased back and undid Cas’ pants. He gave them a swift yank and had them around his thighs.

“This might be easier if you let me help.”

Dean said, “I’m not finding this difficult.” He waggled his eyebrows. “I think you just like being in charge, calling all the shots.”

“Can’t argue there.”

Dean worked his lips over Cas’ neck down to his collarbone. He grabbed hold of Cas’ hips and steadied himself as he moved lower, kissing a trail as he went. He choose not to make the moment last. He chose to dive on in. Cas sucked in a shaky breath as Dean took him into his mouth. Cas’ hands moved to his head, his fingers threaded into his hair.

Dean hummed out a little pleasure filled sound as he sucked. Cas held on. Dean released him with a little pop and laughed. “You look good like this.”

“Damnit Dean,” Cas sounded like he was a wreck. Dean wrapped a hand around him and fell to stroking him, slowly like he could take all day.

“Better?” Dean smirked. “Or should I go back to what I was doing before?” He fully intended to do just that, but he wanted to give himself the pleasure of watching Cas.

“You are a most frustrating man.” A bit of his old accent was there. Cas had been using the voice that they had adopted as part of their cover on the ship. It had given Dean comfort. It was the voice of the man that had meant something to him all those years ago, the voice of the man that meant the world to him now. Dean’s lips curled up into a grin and he slid slowly, languidly even, back down to Cas’ body. He sucked a bit of a bruise into the inside of his thigh. His hand kept working him though, while his mouth attended to the flesh of Cas’ thighs. He needed this too, all of him.

When he finally felt as though Cas had suffered enough, he took him in again. He made quick work of it. Cas came within mere minutes, a startled shake, hands gripping Dean’s hair as he did so. Dean sat back with a grin plastered on his face, pleased with himself. Cas sat up and kissed him. Dean pulled away and just stared at him. “I love you.”

Cas stared at him, silent, a thoughtful expression on his face. “You do?”

“Yeah, don’t make a big deal about it.” Dean got up and walked over to the edge of the blanket. He stretched his arms out high over his head.  He faced the vast green rolling hills. Cas was behind him on the blanket, or so he thought. Then he felt Cas’ arms wrapping around his waist. His chin settled on Dean’s shoulder. They stood together like that for a spell, the afternoon sun rising high in the sky.

They didn’t speak. They just swayed together as they looked out at the world. Dean could hear the lazy buzzing of a bee as it flew by. A couple of birds soared high overhead a ways off. Everything felt peaceful. Cas pressed a kiss into his neck. His shirt was still open, but he had pulled his pants back on. Dean liked the feel of him pressed to his back.

“So you don’t expect me to say it back?” Cas asked.

“You already did. You said it first even.” Dean turned his head to him and looked at him to see the reaction.

Cas kissed into Dean’s neck again, and said, “I’m worried about your hearing.”

Dean said, “You remember telling me that story? When I said you’ve never been in love, and you told me all about how you met someone in the war that you loved. You said it was maybe one-sided. Well, I just wanted to make sure you knew that it wasn’t one-sided. It isn’t one-sided.”

“So you picked up on that.” Dean turned around in his arms and ran his hands up to Cas’ shoulders. Cas added, “Thought I was subtle.”

Dean laughed, “Yeah, not subtle at all.” He kissed him. “So, yeah, you love me.”

“I guess I do.”

The afternoon was theirs. They lingered on the hill for the rest of the day. They ate the food that Cas packed and drank the wine too. They lingered together that day and seemed to forget that their time was winding down. Their time together that day was like a warm summer day. It felt comfortable and leisurely.

They eventually rode back to the safehouse with the wind in their hair. The sun had set and the stars were just beginning to show. They crawled into bed and slept curled around each other, seeming to almost fight for the position that would be the most protective.

* * *

 

The days passed with Dean slipping out in the early morning to tinker in the garage. By the tenth day, Cas had managed to drag himself from bed to find him once again hunched over the workbench.

“What are you doing?” He asked, and Dean nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Jesus, Cas. Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“Sorry, thought you heard me.” He drew closer and said, “In my defense, agents should not be so easy to sneak up on. Seems like Bobby should be training you better.” He smirked.

Dean came to him and popped a quick kiss on the side of his mouth. He did that often, wanting to get as many moments of this sort before the exchange, just in case. “Tinkering. It’s a good occupation for my thoughts.” He had been studying the map pinned to the back wall while he cleaned a pistol. Cas seemed to accept Dean’s minimal explanation though in the way that Dean had intended. It bothered Dean to no end that Cas was so ready to give up, to just let it all play out. And though he said to Dean that he’d be back in the interrogation rooms working, Dean knew that the chances of that happening were slim. He’d thought about all of the situations and all of the players. It was much more likely that they knew about Cas, and that Cas would pay for his choices.

“Garth will be back in a couple of days. What’re the plans for travel then?”

Dean ran a hand back up into his hair and said, “He’ll plan to drive us to the train, to the Night Ferry. I’m planning to have us take the bike. He can take the luggage in the car. Once we get into France, we’ll drive the rest of the way to the safe house just outside of Berlin. We’ll likely be there for one night, then the exchange will happen.”

“And Garth will be the one that takes me to the exchange?” Cas’ question was almost a statement, missing the tone of genuine inquiry.

“No, I’m going to do that.” Dean’s brows furrowed.

“I don’t want that.” Cas turned away from him. “I don’t want your last memory of me to be that. We should part at the safehouse.”

“‘Fraid you don’t get a say in that. I’m going.” Dean’s irritation was simmering. He’d been doing his best to bottle it all up, but little things just kept stirring his irritation to the surface. _How dare Cas think he could take this from him._

“I understand you’re upset.”

“Damn right I’m upset. At every turn, you fight me on what we can talk about, on what I can do to save you. You gave up before you had any right to do so. Now you’re telling me that I can’t even be by your side at the end. Well, fuck that and fuck you.” Cas turned back to him for the last bit. Dean bit back any additional tirade. Cas looked like he was falling apart.

“Dean please.” Cas started and stopped. His words came out a little choked. “I have to do this. I won’t be able to get through it if I have to see you. It’ll kill me.”

Dean felt himself sag in defeat. He took the two steps to him and pulled him in. “I’m sorry,” he breathed into Cas’ hair. “I’m sorry.” Cas shook a little in his arms. They had a day and a half. It was all running away from them. And Dean should be happy. He was getting Sam back, and he was. Yet this was too much. “Cas.” They both leaned back a little and stared into each other’s eyes. “I have to be there. It’ll kill me not to be.” Then he put together the words that he thought would make Cas see reason. “I have to be there for you and for Sam.” He knew that by adding Sam, Cas would lose the argument.

He muttered, “Okay.” and tucked his head back into Dean’s chest. Dean just held him, smoothed his hand over the tight muscles of Cas’ back. Time passed, but they held on to each other for as long as they could in the garage and in the house. They held on, because it was all they could do.

* * *

 

On their last day in the house alone, Dean went for a walk. On his way back Cas found him. “Garth is here.”

“Yeah?” Dean started to pick up the pace, but Cas stopped him.

“He’s not alone.” Cas reached out and brushed a hand on Dean’s arm.

Dean didn’t know what to say. He just stood there and tracked all the little shifts in Cas’ features, committing them to memory. “This isn’t the end.”

“I know. We still have to take the train and the ferry. We still have the drive. I know.”

“No, Cas. I mean, it’s not the end. I won’t lose you.”

Cas reached up to Dean’s cheek and held it. He didn’t say anything with words, but Dean heard him anyway. Eventually he dropped his hand and they walked back, side by side to the house. Dean was so lost in his thoughts that he wasn’t looking to the house as he walked. He was watching his feet scrape through the gravel instead. Then a familiar voice boomed out to him in greeting, causing him to start and freeze. “Finally. Thought you were gonna make me wait all day.” Bobby got up from his chair which was set out next to the front door.

Dean just stared for a moment then ran up to him. He’d have pulled the old codger into a hug, but Bobby raised a hand to stop him. “You’re here.”

“Well, thank you for that memo. Thought I was still in the hospital back in New York.” Bobby got up and Garth slipped a cane into his hand. “Travel was a peach, but I felt like I needed to be here to see this through. The doctors let me go likely just to shut me up. Pretty sure I made their lives hell.”

“So you’re not supposed to be running around?” Dean reached out to help him move into the house and to another seat.

“I’m supposed to be careful. I’m being as careful as I need to be.” He took in Dean’s expression and added with a growl of disapproval, “I’m fine you idjit. Stop looking at me like I’m dying here. They wouldn’t have let me come otherwise.” He slumped down onto the couch and waved at the kitchen. “Bring the food, Garth.”

Garth complied and shuffled back with a tray of food that he set in front of Bobby. “Here you go sir.”

“So Garth has told me that passage on the Night Ferry is booked. We’ll be in Berlin in two days. We’ll be in the safe house there for a night, then the exchange will happen the following night. If all goes well, that is.”

“Sounds like what I was telling him.” Dean pointed to Cas and waited a moment before directing a question at Garth. “Still no alternatives for our exchange?”

Garth sat next to Bobby and folded his hands. “No, Dean. Sorry. I did look over our records. We don’t have the kind of prisoner they’d want, or that we can afford to give at this time.”

Dean’s head had dipped at the _no_ but it whipped back up at the end. “What do you mean by _afford to give_?”

“We have some high profile prisoners, but they aren’t to be traded. They’d garner media attention and the actual president would not approve of the transfer. What we do is smaller, less in the public eye so to speak.” Garth looked to Cas then and added, “No offense to Mr. Krushnic here, but he’s not a big player in the eyes of the State Department.”

Cas looked at Dean and said, “I’m really not.” He smiled at Garth and asked, “So how does the exchange work?”

Dean got up then and stormed over to the front door. “Dean,” Bobby said his name and brought him to a stop.

“I just need to get a breath of air for a bit. I know how the exchange goes. You can get him up to speed without me being here.” He turned back and leveled a gaze at Cas. “I’ll be back before we go.” Bobby nodded his approval, and Dean left, slamming the door in his wake.

He mounted the Triumph and roared away from the house. He looked down at his hands as he accelerated past what was technically safe. The miles of mostly unpaved road sent clouds of dust up behind him. He had hope and at the same time he didn’t. He knew that some part of his plan could fail if Cas didn’t hold on a little. He needed him to want to be saved. If he didn’t want that, some part of Dean would feel it, like a rejection.

After hours of driving he found a place that sold fuel. There was a pub nearby that Dean tucked into. He planned to wait out his time there. Going back, meant sleeping in a bed alone. It meant pretending that all was good, all was right. He couldn’t do that. He ordered a pint and drank it near a window that looked out at the valley and the fog that rolled in over it. It grew later, and he considered when he’d have to return. He had time, lots of it, and none at the same time.

A set of headlights illuminated the front of the pub. Dean noted the familiarity of the car. He drank down a little more of his beer and waited. Garth slipped into the seat across from him. He motioned to the bartender with a casual wave of his hand. A pint came to him moments later, yet they still hadn’t spoken.

Garth took a sip, then set down the glass. “Are you okay?” He finally asked. Dean didn’t look at him or answer. Garth reached out to him, but Dean moved back and away. “Look, Dean. I tried. I’m sorry.”

“I’m fine.” The proverbial phrase of the not fine fell from his lips. “I just don’t like this. I don’t like that we are sending off an innocent man.”

“It’s more than that, but I don’t need you to acknowledge it.” Garth lifted his drink and the glass seemed to cover half of his face. “He believes that he deserves this.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that he shared details from his work. They were details meant to assure us of his guilt and the justice that would be served by sending him back to them.”

“He is trying to make us feel better.” Dean finished off the pint and waved for another. Garth stopped that from happening with a second wave.

“Need you to be clear headed.”

“I’m fine.” He wasn’t, but he also accepted Garth’s wishes.

“He’s done things, Dean.”

“Nothing that warrants this kind of end.”

Garth looked at him with that too-sad look in his eyes. “No, Dean. He has. He has done much.”

“Well, we’ve all done much. He’s no worse than you or me.” Dean didn’t know why it mattered, what Garth or even Bobby thought. It just did, and he needed them to be on the same page as him.

“That may be true, but he did all of this for the other side. He was our enemy.”

“Yeah, well now he’s gonna pay for that. He was helping Sam. He was helping us, Garth.” Dean huffed out a frustrated sigh. “Now he gets tossed back to the wolves like none of that mattered.”

“It mattered. I’ll work a trade for him. I won’t forget him.” Garth finished off his beer.

“It might be too late.”

“I know. I worried about that with Benny and with Sam too. They stay too long, and we don’t really get them back.”

Dean looked off out the window. “Saw Benny before we left. He seemed a bit better, but this business with Andrea will set him back. He’ll be the same miserable, soulless fuck we pulled out all those months ago.”

“He’s tough, Dean. Have a little faith.”

“Yeah, faith. That’s served me well.” Dean reached into the bowl of nuts on the table and ate a few. “And Sam. God, he’s been in there longer than Benny.”

“He’ll have you though. You’ll get him through this. So will Bobby. Might be just the thing to get him off his feet and off the job. Tell him that he needs to be with Sam.”

Dean smiled at that. “Like anything can keep Bobby from the job.”

“Yeah, he doesn’t do well with certain things. Maybe we put Miss K on this.” Garth pushed back from the table. “We need to head back.”

Dean got up with him. As they walked out into the night, Garth to his car and Dean to the bike, Dean said, “Hey, Garth.”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks,” he paused and looked off into the night, “for everything.”

“Anytime.”

* * *

 

Cas retreated into a quiet shell of himself. He was already quiet to begin with, so the added layer was a bit much for Dean. He felt mounting irritation that surfaced as they packed up to go. He snapped out, “You don’t need to be in here,” when Cas tried to help with one of the bags. Cas just looked at him sadly for a moment then moved back out to where Bobby was.

They loaded up the car and Bobby got in. Dean had already said that he’d be taking the Triumph. He had thought that Cas would go in the car now. He’d been surly enough with the guy in the last couple of hours, so it made sense to think that. Instead Cas walked over to him and got on behind them. No one questioned it, least of all Dean. Cas did not curl around him as he had the other day. He leaned away a little, keeping a respectable distance while Bobby and Garth were in their line of sight.

“Is this okay?” Cas whispered.

Dean grunted out an “okay,” and started the engine. They rode along in the night. As the miles passed, Cas drew closer to Dean, his chest pressed solidly to Dean’s back. He curled his hands into Dean’s shirt at his chest. At one point on a straightaway, Dean reached up and patted Cas’ hand with his own. This earned him a tighter squeeze from Cas in response.

They reached the train that would cross via the Night Ferry. They just had to load up and try for sleep. Dean knew he wouldn’t really sleep at all. He lay there though, in his berth, focusing on the sounds of the rails beneath them.

They reached Paris the following day, none of them relaxed or refreshed. Bobby looked the worse for wear and Dean said as much. “Don’t mother hen me, boy.” Bobby batted Dean’s hand away when he tried to help him off the train.

“Just worried. I don’t think the doc wanted you sleeping in trains and traveling around so much. This ain’t exactly taking it easy.”

“I’m doing fine. She hit none of my important parts when she shot me, and I’ve got plenty of grit and gristle in me to deal with the injury. Now let’s get going.” They eventually drove out of the city, Cas and Dean on the Triumph, Garth and Bobby in the car. The sun was just rising, blanketing Paris in early morning pinks and oranges. It would be magical to look at if time wasn’t running out.

They reached the next safe house late that night and practically crawled into the place. They ate mechanically, and sussed out the sleeping arrangements after. Bobby got the main bedroom. His injuries and seniority made that arrangement easy. Garth said he’d take the couch. This left the other bedroom for Dean and Cas. There were two small beds in the space.

Dean shed some of his clothes and picked the bed nearest the door. Cas moved to the other bed and pulled back the blankets. He looked back at Dean. He came to Dean’s bed and reached down to the blanket. Dean moved over a bit. The bed was not big enough by any stretch for the two of them, but Cas got in anyway. It was just for one night, just this last night.

Dean lifted his arm and Cas wedged himself into the space. It was fine. It would do. They’d be up before Bobby and Garth. They wouldn’t know, and the risk was worth it in Dean’s opinion. Cas whispered into Dean’s ear as he was about to sleep. “I want you to reconsider going to the exchange.”

“We already talked about this. I’m going. I want to be there with you. And I want to be there for Sam.” Dean held him close, and he kept his tone from sounding too angry. He didn’t want that on their last night, maybe. He also wanted to be careful for Garth and Bobby. They didn’t need to have anything accidentally spelled out for them.

Truth be told, he believed that Bobby knew. Garth practically said he knew. They wouldn’t be letting protocol fall by the wayside so thoroughly if they didn’t know something. Dean would like to think that it was Bobby’s sixth sense for people that let him trust Cas, but it wasn’t. He had in fact trusted Andrea and that was a mistake. It was likely his trust in Dean that made the protocols fold. By all rights, Cas should be locked up in the holding cell at the back of the house. He should have been hauled around under a hood, to keep him from seeing where they were going, where they’d been.

They trusted Dean though, and Dean trusted that what Cas had told him had been the truth, mostly. He knew deep down that some of it had been lies. He didn’t want to call him on it. He didn’t want to have it all confirmed, because if it was, he’d be freaking out far more so than he was currently.

“Dean,” Cas said and paused. Dean grunted a little noise to let him know that he wasn’t asleep. “I won’t give up on getting back to you. You don’t need to worry. You can focus on Sam. Get him home, and get him well. That’s the most important task.”

Dean felt his own shuddering breath tumble from his lips. “Cas.” He didn’t want to say it, but he knew this wasn’t going to go down like Cas was pretending. Still, he thought that it made Cas feel better to believe that Dean was in the dark. He held him, and in time, the soft curls of air that fell onto Dean’s chest told him that Cas was finally asleep.

* * *

 

The next morning, Dean slipped out of the bedroom without waking Cas. Garth was snoring away on the couch when he came out into the livingroom. He went out the front door to get some fresh air and found Bobby there, drinking coffee. “You’re up early.”

“You too.”

Dean sat down next to him and said, “I won’t be comfortable with this situation in the long run.”

“I know.” Bobby sipped at the coffee and then set his mug next to him on the step. “It’s why I’m not letting you go to the exchange.”

Dean shifted a little and leveled a glare on Bobby. “You won’t be able to stop me.”

“I realize that you want to go. I get that. You’re too close to this. You need to let us handle it.”

“Too close to this? What the hell, Bobby. Sam’s like your family too. How is this okay for you but not me?” His volume was ratcheting up.

Bobby set a hand on him to calm him. “Being close to Sam isn’t the issue. Being close to Krushnic is. I know you boy. I know how you’ll carry this long after it’s all said and done. You think you’re to blame for every fool thing that happens. Think I want you moping around thinking that you did this to him, that you sent him back to the Ruskies?”

Dean shifted his tone, trying for ambivalent. “He’s just a prisoner. I’ve traded tons of them before. I’ve tortured ‘em too. This ain’t no different.”

Bobby just stared at him for a moment and then said, quiet so he could only barely be heard, “No, Dean. It ain’t like that at all. Think I don’t see what’s going on. I won’t pretend I understand it all, but that ain’t the point. I see you Dean Winchester, and you’re my son, maybe not through blood or whatnot, but you are my son. I’ll go to my grave to defend you and your chicken-headed brother whenever either of you go off on some fool’s errand. You know why?”

Dean shook his head and muttered, “No.”

“Because you’re family, and that’s what we do for each other. Your kid falls off his bike, you go out and patch him up. You don’t tell him to stop riding bikes or that he don’t know how to handle such things. You pick ‘em up when they fall and keep them from hurting themselves too much.” He gave Dean’s knee a little squeeze. “Your dad use to leave you and Sam with me from time to time when you were both kids. He’d tell me to take you out shooting. He said you were getting soft.”

“Yeah, dad was a winner.” Dean huffed out a little snort and rolled his eyes.

“He loved you, but he didn’t know how to be good at it. Grief sometimes gets in there and sucks up your soul. I don’t want that to happen to you. It was like that for John. He needed you boys to keep him human, but he didn’t know how to give you both what you needed in return.”

“I know he loved us, but he just…”

Bobby interrupted, “You don’t need to justify his actions. You don’t need to even acknowledge that he loved you both. You get to feel whatever you’re feeling.” He folded his hands in front of him. “Never told you much about my pops?”

Dean watched him, and thought about what he did know about Bobby’s past. Not much. “Can’t say you have.”

“He was a nasty bastard. Beat my mom every chance he got. He wasn’t too kind to me either. There are those that don’t know what it is to love someone more than themselves. I learned first hand what that sort of person was like. I also learned what it was to love someone more than anything.” He looked sad, like everything in his past was hitting him at once. Dean draped an arm over his shoulders.

“You know Sam and I, we love ya back.”

Bobby rolled his eyes at him. “Don’t go getting all sappy on me.” They both laughed. Bobby became serious again quickly. “You got a lot of heart, Dean. It’s why I can’t let you do this. I can’t let you go there and then live out the rest of your days feeling like you committed an act of betrayal. Let Garth and I do this.”

“I gotta be there, Bobby. I can’t let him do this alone.” Dean got up and paced in front of Bobby. “Besides, what if this trade goes south? What if they’re just trying to get something from us?”

“That’s not a concern. This is gonna go down just like all of our exchanges.” Bobby tried to push off the steps into a standing position. Dean reached down to help. Bobby swatted his hand away. “Go into town and get us some breakfast. I’ve got some phone calls to make.”

Dean lingered for a bit before going back inside to get properly dressed. He entered his and Cas’ room quietly so that he wouldn’t wake him. He was already awake though and standing near the window at the front of the room. “‘Mornin’.” Dean pulled the door closed behind him.

Cas turned to him. “Bobby’s right.”

“You were eavesdropping.”

Cas rolled his shoulder in a slight shrug and said, “It’s what I do.” He reached down and picked up the bag that had been tossed into the corner. It had clothes and other toiletries. He pulled out a clean shirt and started to get dressed. “I wish you’d reconsider.”

“I wish everyone would stop trying to change my plans. I’m going and that’s final.” Dean began changing in a flurry of movements. He wanted to just do this peacefully. It was frustrating though. Dean finished and sat on the edge of the bed. Cas continued to get dressed slowly, methodically in front of him.

Cas’ hair was a wild mess, all deep dark brown waves in need of a cut. He needed to shave too. The stubble on his jawline was maybe two days old now. His fingers, long like he should be playing a piano or strumming a guitar, slowly buttoned up his shirt. Cas didn’t look at him as he moved. Dean thought of his eyes though, the things they’d seen. He thought of how alike they were, yet how much more Cas had done with his time. He was looking out for his family, looking out for Dean, and trying to fix so much. Dean let his mind linger on the last. “I’ve gotta go get breakfast. I’ll be back in about an hour.” Cas didn’t respond with words, but he did look at Dean, and his eyes said enough.

* * *

 

He sat in the cafe and waited. He’d thought that when he’d placed the call that he’d get one of the local minions, not the man himself. It would have been enough. He’d done business with him that way before. It wasn’t long though before MacLeod fell into the seat across from him. “I’m sorry I’m late.”

Dean rolled up an eyebrow at him. “I certainly can’t complain. I’m a little surprised you were even anywhere nearby.”

“Business. I plan to head back to the States tomorrow.” He flagged down a waitress for some coffee and they waited. MacLeod seemed subdued, almost too much for him.

“You okay?” Dean watched for tells.

MacLeod kept his hands beneath the table. He looked off out the window and Dean followed his gaze. A dark car was parked across the street. “I’m fine.”

“Perhaps we should take a walk, breathe some fresh air.” Dean leaned over and pulled out his wallet, tossing some bills onto the table to cover the coffee. He walked up to the counter and said, “I’ll be back for the breakfasts in a bit.” The waitress just smiled at him. He went out the door with MacLeod on his heels.

“What’re you doing?”

Dean turned to him and asked, “You need me to take care of some things here?”

“No, no. I have this under control.” MacLeod looked back at Dean and added, “Maybe we could walk this way.” He gestured away from the men and the car.

Dean let him lead the way. “What’s going on?”

“They’re making sure I do my job. I’ll be rid of them soon enough. I should have told you. Doesn’t do you any good to be seen with me right now. You sounded desperate though.”

Dean didn’t know what to do with this new more concerned version of MacLeod. He was supposed to be brash, a kind of devil-may-care attitude pasted on for good measure. Dean glanced back and saw the car was trailing them. “I guess I can’t ask you for help then.”

“Not sure I’m in a position to be of service to you. My present employer might have a conflicting demand.” MacLeod looked up at him like he was rethinking his plans, but then he turned away.

“You knew Krushnic before.”

“Yes, we discussed this at length.” There was a little of the old condescension in MacLeod’s tone again.

“You knew more though. You knew that he was trailing me. You knew that he knew me.”

“Ah, so it’s all out now.” MacLeod picked up the pace a little and Dean matched him. “He was always a bit protective where you were concerned. I’m surprised he told you.”

“I don’t think he meant to.” Dean glanced back to the car, still there.

“I don’t think he does anything unless he means to. Very methodical, that man. If he told you who he was, it was because he wanted you to know him. If he wanted you to know him, it was with reason.”

“Actually, I think that he finally met someone that could see through him. I figured him out before he told me who he was.”

MacLeod slowed up a little. “Really? How?”

“I recognized his voice,” Dean said.

“His voice.” MacLeod said it like he had all the doubts in the world.

“He spoke to me in the accent he had used before, when we met in the war.” Dean stopped walking and MacLeod took another step before turning back to him.

“And you think he didn’t choose that voice for a reason? He wanted you to know him. He wanted you to figure it out and toss yourself at him like not a day had passed.” MacLeod turned away from him. “It use to bug him when I’d sit near you or throw innuendos at you. He was a jealous bugger.”

“He saw that?”

MacLeod turned back. “He was in Berlin when I met with you and Sam, over at that run down cafe. He gave me very specific instructions about how to conduct myself with you and what body parts I’d lose if I ever touched you again.”

“Oh.” Dean looked down and then back at MacLeod’s face. “Guess you wouldn’t be too interested in helping him escape from his people then?”

MacLeod’s eyebrow raised again. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that. After all the enemy of my enemy is my friend, so to speak.” The glance he gave over Dean’s shoulder toward the car, spoke volumes. “Tell me what to do.”

“Won’t they be a problem?” Dean didn’t have to look back or gesture.

“No. I’ll finish my job for them ahead of schedule, and that should give me a little freedom.” His lips curled up into a smile and he added, “I’m going to enjoy this I think.”

* * *

 

Dean made his arrangements with MacLeod and then with a swing through the cafe, grabbed the breakfast items for Bobby, Garth, and Cas. He had a spring in his step that came from hope and plans that seemed solid enough. He took the long way back to the house. He breathed in the crisp late morning air. The sky was bright and blue. He could smell a little smoke on the air, pungent fires from the various houses that were fighting off the chill of the day.

He rounded the bend and began walking away from the town, toward the bridge that crossed the little creek. The trickling sound of the water beneath him was soothing. He noted the way that everything seemed so still, the safe house surrounded by trees, the small puffy white clouds overhead. It almost looked more like a painting of some idyllic place.

Then it struck Dean. The place was too still. He was near the steps. He could hear voices coming from inside. One voice in particular was far too familiar. Dean opened the door. “Long time no see,” Dean said as he stepped into the room and leveled a glare at MacLeod.

Bobby stepped between them. “Welcome back, Dean. Told you to get us breakfast, not take a vacation first.” He took the bag of food from Dean and set it out on the table. Garth and Cas came to the table and sat down like nothing weird was happening at all, like it was just the norm to have MacLeod in the room with them.

“What’s going on?” Dean looked from one face to the next for some form of clarity.

“I’m afraid that I have been employed by Mr. Singer today.” MacLeod took a seat at the table and waved a hand at the last empty seat for Dean to sit in.

Dean sat and just stared at them all. “You work with MacLeod?” Dean asked Bobby.

“Not so much. You told me of some of your dealings with him, so I chose to bring him into this. You never mentioned what a limey bastard he is.”

“Hey, I’m right here.” MacLeod waggled his eyebrows a little. “Of course I reckon you might fancy a little limey bastard in the morning.” He leaned a little toward Bobby, and Bobby leaned away. There was the MacLeod Dean knew.

Dean turned to Garth then and asked, “You mind telling me what this is about?”

Garth stuffed his face full of breakfast and made a pretense of pantomiming nothing that Dean could decipher. He finally turned to Cas then who said, “You have made plans where I’m concerned.”

“Yeah, so what.” Dean didn’t elaborate. He assumed though that MacLeod had already spilled his guts. _Not good_.

“You were going to take an immense risk,” Cas added.

“No.” Dean looked at MacLeod who seemed to be doing his best to avoid eye contact.

“You really can’t lie to me, Dean.” Cas was staring at him steadily. “Luckily for you, Bobby shares my opinion not yours.”

“What are you talking about?” The door behind Dean opened, and before he could even turn around fully he was on his feet. The two men from the car had entered. Dean turned back to MacLeod. “You weren’t being trailed.”

“No.”

“Damnit.” Dean considered his options. He looked back at the men, two towering brutes in suits. “What, Bobby, couldn’t get your own guys to do this to me?”

“We’re running kinda low on agents these days, in case you didn’t notice. I also needed to be sure to have men on this that wouldn’t succumb to your brand of charm. Seems half the time I give orders back home, you're finding ways to circumnavigate them.”

“Won’t work. I’m still going to the exchange.” Dean puffed up his chest a little, a challenge to anyone that might choose to challenge him.

Bobby hummed a little and said, “I was a bit more worried about what you’d do before the exchange. I don’t want you there at all though.” He gave the men a nod and they fell on Dean in a rush. Dean tried to fight them off, but the one man was a wall of steel. The other was stone. “Don’t fight this, Dean.”

And even if he could fight, that was soon taken from him by a fist slamming into the side of his face.

* * *

 

He opened his eyes to a darker room. He wasn’t alone. He groaned a little as the pounding in his head threatened to send him back into the land of nod. “You should probably wake up.”

Dean turned his head slowly in the direction of the voice. “Woulda thought you’d be gone, MacLeod.”

“I figured I’d stay with you, make sure you were comfortable.” MacLeod ran his finger up Dean’s arm, over the ropes that were holding him fast to the chair.

“Have they gone?”

“Yes.” MacLeod sounded a little more sober then. “I tried to wake you up before. Klaus is stronger than he realizes.” MacLeod began loosening the ropes. “He said to tell you he’s sorry.”

“I swear if this is…” Dean started and the ropes fell.

“Look, I held up my end of things.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t mention that you were working with Bobby.” Dean got up as the ropes holding his legs came loose. He rubbed at his wrists and moved to grab his holster and coat.

“Dean, I spoke with him. He’s not wrong to keep you out of this.”

“Bobby’s being overprotective. I’m not some fragile butterfly here.” Dean huffed as he moved for the door.

“I was talking about Krushnic.”

Dean paused, “What’d he say?” He didn’t have time for this.

“He said, that he was wrong to let you find out. He said it would have been easier for you if you didn’t know. He said that he won’t have you risking yourself for him.”

“Same kind of bullshit he said to me earlier.” Dean moved to leave.

“There’s more.” Dean stopped and turned back to him. “He said that you’re on some sort of list and Bobby too. Said that it’s not safe for you to go, because Uriel will take the shot. He won’t care that the trade was negotiated. It’s why he doesn’t want you there. He thinks that the exchange is just a chance for them to knock off you and Bobby.”

“But Bobby’s going.”

“I know.”

Dean struggled for words for a moment then asked, “He’s planning to do the exchange.”

“Yes. Garth said he could do it for him, practically begged him, but Bobby said no. Said he wouldn’t have anyone else risking their necks for him. He said he lost enough agents already.”

“That goddamn sonofabitch. So many fucking solutions and he picks this one.” Dean grabbed the door to go and said, “I’m leaving. You have any orders to try to stop me?

Dean moved out into the living room where the two men sat at the table playing cards. “No, at least not any I plan to obey.” He clapped Dean on the shoulder and said, “Be careful.” Then he seemed to rethink it and said, “Or not. Be reckless. It’s what usually works for you.”

Dean was out the door with that and on the Triumph. He raced off toward the exchange point. It was just twenty miles to the east. He could do this. He glanced up at the sky that was dark and full of stars now. It wasn’t  even that late. He would get to the building on the western side of the bridge. It was possible to see the building on the eastern side, the building that contained Sam.

He’d had time to think about it all. He’d had time to see how it would go down. Cas wouldn’t help him accomplish his goals tonight. He wouldn’t let himself be saved, that was certain. He’d done everything in his power to keep Dean from doing what he wanted, what he needed to do. Well, as much as he could. He was a prisoner after all, and Dean was Dean. So, Dean chose a different path, a more idiotic path. He chose to let Cas go. It might be the only way to save Bobby, and that mattered too.

* * *

 

Dean could hear the hollow echo of his shoes on the pavement as he ran full-speed down the street. He left the bike up on the hill, not wanting to punctuate the silence with the roar of his engine. The trade would happen. Bobby would make sure of it, but Dean couldn't let Cas go without some word, some reassurance that he'd save him even if it wasn’t tonight.

Dean rounded a corner, two blocks left. He cursed his lack of a vehicle. _Damnit Cas. Why didn't you tell me?_ He came to the end of the stone building and could see down to the bridge.

There were tall buildings on either side. Dean stopped and looked closely at the rooftops. The ones on their side had snipers hidden in the shadows. Dean assumed that the Russians had done the same on their end.

He looked for the barest hint of movement, worried that they might take the shot at Bobby even before the trade. _No, they’ll want to get Cas too, greedy bastards_ . He thought then about what else they might know, what he’d suspected that they had known all along. _Shit. They’ve gotta know everything._ Dean ran for the bridge.


	6. Chapter 6

“Dean's gonna hate me when all this is done,” Bobby said as he took a seat across from Cas.

“He'll forgive you when Sam is home safe.” He folded his hands in his lap and closed his eyes. He felt every second ticking by too fast and also not fast enough. He didn’t want Dean here, didn’t want him to experience this, blaming himself the entire time for something that he could never have prevented if he wanted his brother back. The circumstances wouldn’t matter to someone like Dean; he’d just hate himself and blame himself, because that’s what he does. He also couldn’t risk him in other ways too. Uriel was out there, and Uriel would take the shot.

“Dmitri, you okay?” Bobby's voice carried a tone of genuine concern.

“Please, call me Cas. I'd like to go by that name for now,” Cas said as he opened his eyes and looked at Bobby.

“Okay, Cas.” He continued to look at Cas and repeated, “You okay?”

“Yes. Sam will be saved, and he is Dean's world. He’ll be more careful for him, I hope, no matter what happens tonight. I leave your custody tonight feeling some comfort. Those that I care for are safe and likely always will be. I cannot ask for more.”

“What will happen with you after the trade?” It was a question that he wanted to keep from his mind. They knew what he was, _a traitor,_ and they knew what he had shared. Andrea had made that clear. He did not want Dean to know, so that meant that Bobby couldn't know either.

“They'll put me to work again in interrogation. I have some hope that I won't be given a promotion. I don't have the stomach for such violence.”

Bobby didn't say anything right away. He just stared levelly at him. When he spoke it was in a low graveled out whisper. “Now boy, you and I both know that you aren't going back to your old life. Let's not trade in lies here. What's gonna happen to you?”

Cas looked away. There was a painting on the far wall and an ornate vase on a white table. The room was gaudy. The visual distraction helped though. “I'll be taken to the office of Teplyakova. They'll pretend that my return is being celebrated, so I won't fight them. Even now, knowing how it'll end, I have a thin hope that they know nothing.”

Bobby said, “But they do.”

“Yes they do.”

“And once they get you to Teplyakova’s office, then what?” Bobby folded his hands and leaned forward.

“The office I'll be taken to is in Berlin. They could take me to Moscow, but Teplyakova is going to want to oversee my torture. He's spending more time in Berlin lately.” Cas paused to take a deep breath. “He'll go to the book cabinet and remove his copy of _The Count of Monte Cristo._ He likes the irony. Behind the book is a switch that will open the door that is hidden behind the bookshelf.”

Cas stopped and Bobby said, “And that's where they'll keep you.”

“Until I die.

“I'm sorry.” Again Bobby sounded sincere and Cas felt guilty for sharing so much.

“You need not pity me. I've earned this. This death is my penance for the life I've lived, the suffering I've brought to this world.”

Then Bobby did something unexpected. He reached across the aisle between them and settled a hand on his shoulder. “No one deserves what you will go through. Thank you for saving my boys.” He added a quick squeeze and continued, “Is there anything I can do for you to ease this?”

He thought for a moment about all that he wanted, but would never have. He thought of the threadbare memories that he'd carry into the darkness to come. “Tell my mother and sister that I love them beyond words. And…” He swallowed and thought that he might not get what he wanted. “Let Dean believe that I'll be okay. He'll blame himself or hate himself too much if he knows what is in store for me.”

“I'll do my best. He's smart though. He'll figure it out, if he hasn’t already.” Bobby glanced up at the wall clock and then back.

“Then you'll have to be very convincing.” Cas donned a sincere smile, and Bobby just looked pained. He thought of the cyanide capsule that he had under a false tooth in his mouth. He’d be able to end it easily when it got to be too much. Then the door burst open, scattering his thoughts, and Dean was in the room, Garth on his heels.

* * *

 

He's Bobby's second so no one stopped him or even considered it. He breathed a sigh of relief when Garth said that the trade hadn't happened yet. He felt some guilt at the thought, as it was his brother that would be coming home.

“Damnit,” Bobby said as he got up. “I swear.”

“You sonofabitch.” Dean stepped toward him, casting a glance at Cas. “This isn’t your mission. You try to knock me out or keep me from it again, and I’ll hogtie you to that post and leave you there. I might just do it anyway.” Dean got right up in Bobby’s space and said, “I think they'll try to shoot you, Bobby. You can't be the one making the trade.”

“Why do you think that?” Bobby put his hands on his hips and seemed to puff out his chest a little.

“They know what he's done. There's no way they don't. He shared names with us, details we never could have gotten without his help or at least the help of someone in that interrogation room. Andrea’s dead, and Uriel’s loyal as they come. They’ll know who helped Sam. They know now who and what Krushnic is. They know he helped us, and they'll make him pay for it. They have snipers too. I think they'll take you out if you make the trade.”

“We have snipers. That's just how it is. They won't risk the deal. It would jeopardize all future diplomacy. They'd be fools.” Bobby sounded confident.

“Best not risk it. You can't be out there.” Dean held Bobby's gaze and didn't look to Cas again.

“So if you are right, and I ain't saying you are, why would I send someone else into that kind of danger?”

“It wouldn't be worth it for them to take out someone minor, but for you they'll do it. Send me. I'm nothing to them.”

Cas stood up then and said, “Absolutely not, Dean Winchester. Your name was as much on the list as Mr. Singer’s was.”

Bobby looked at Cas then as if to quiet him with a glare. “We already talked about this. It’s how it has to happen, if we have a shot at getting Sam out.”

“Would they shoot Dean?” Garth asked.

“Dean should not be down there. Uriel would not let an opportunity for restitution go by where Dean is concerned. It is just part of the reason that I did not want him here.” Cas looked from Garth to Dean.

Garth seemed to think for a moment then said, “We could disguise Dean. His build is very different from yours, Bobby, so they'll know he's not you, and he won't look like Dean, who they don't expect anyway, so he'll be safe.” Bobby thought about it for a moment

“Bobby, you gotta let me do this. I can’t lose you out there. I can’t. I’ve buried enough parents. So if you’re doing this outta some sort of weird guilt, I’m gonna need you to suck it up and let me go. You need to live. You need to do that for me, for Sam, and for Miss K, who has likely only gotten a hospital dinner outta you, and that ain’t no date.” Dean let his lips curl up into a smile at that.

Bobby came up to Dean and pulled him into a hug. He let him go and gave Garth a nod. “Only if the disguise is good enough.”

“No.” Cas started again. “Mr. Singer, you can't let him do this.”

Bobby looked at him and Dean tried to understand what was being said. “I'm gonna give you two a moment.” With that he stepped to the door and added, “I'll be back in fifteen minutes.”

It wasn't enough time. Dean finally let himself look at Cas. “So I'm not a good enough escort for you?” He moved closer, and Cas’ eyes dropped to the floor between them.

“It's too much.” Cas’ words were barely a whisper.

“What is?”

Cas looked up, and Dean placed his hands on him. There was a safe intimacy to the moment. Cas said, “You can't save everyone my friend, though you try.”

“I know I'm not gonna save you. I'll be damned though if I'm gonna let you go without me by your side.”

“I can't let you carry this.”

“You don't have a choice. You haven't had a choice since I knew who you were.” Dean leaned down close, breathed his air, and brought their lips close. “I'll find a way to save you Cas. I'll get you out of there or die trying.”

“I don't want that. I don't want you throwing your life away. Sam and Bobby will need you. Don't… Just don't.”

Dean cupped his cheek with his hand. Time was slipping away. Dean kissed him, and Cas let him. Cas’ lips parted, and Dean deepened the kiss. He committed each moment to memory, the brush of stubble against his chin, the shaky breath Cas took when they parted for a mere second, only to continue a moment later. He'd craved this since those nights in the cave all those years ago. He'd imagined Cas’ hands on him every time he took someone else to his bed. Cas’ hands were on him now, firm and possessive. He wondered now how he could let him go.

He'd never be able to imagine him now without the accompanying feeling of crippling loss. Time passed, and with each new move, Dean feared that Cas would release him. Each stroke of Cas’ hands up his back, fingers digging in, made Dean think, _this moment, no this moment, this will be our last_.

“I will find a way. Hang onto that Cas. I'll save you,” Dean said as the kiss ended. He needed Cas to believe him, to hope, and to not be broken by what was to come. Dean shook with the thought. _How can I let this happen? How?_

Cas reached up to Dean's face and held his gaze. “I need you to see this situation properly.” His thumb stroked slowly back and forth on Dean's cheek. “I don't want you to save me. I don't want you to try.”

“I'll be careful. I promise. I know you're worried about me. I get that.”

Cas pulled Dean's forehead to his. “No Dean. It's more than that. This is my penance. I deserve what's to come. I don't want you to throw your life away trying to stop this. When the time comes, I'll end the torment on my terms.”

Dean felt his body shaking even more. “How?”

“I have my ways and my connections. It'll be easily accomplished.” Cas took in a deep breath and added, “I want you to know that I don't regret everything. I should as it all contributed to my sins. I've caused so much suffering, but in the end, I'm not convinced that I'd change my past as it brought me to you.” Dean blanched a little. “I think this makes me very selfish, and maybe a horrible human being.”

Dean took his hand and pulled it up to his lips. He kissed his knuckles and held him there. He let go with one hand and reached into his pocket. “Wear this for me. When it gets difficult, you can feel it here and think of me.”

Cas nodded and Dean slipped a thick gold band on Cas’ finger. “I saw you wearing this earlier.”

“I was, it was my dad’s. It means a lot to me. I want you to have it.” Dean waited a beat and said, “Promise me something?”

Cas breathed into the silence that followed, then said, “Yes.”

“Promise me that you'll live for at least a year. Promise me that you'll at least let yourself live for that long.”

Cas stepped back from him and just stared at him. “Will it be easier for you if I say yes?” Dean nodded. “Then okay Dean. I'll live for a year.”

The door opened slowly behind them, and Bobby was back in the room with Garth and the woman that would help Dean with his disguise. Dean left the room with them, casting a backwards glance at Cas. He didn't need a year, but he thought that Cas might feel better if he thought otherwise.

* * *

 

When Dean returned, they did not speak to each other. Dean had adopted a professional demeanor, and Cas mimicked that. Bobby lead them to the door and they moved out to the cool night air. Dean's hands brushed his lower back, providing a tiny bit of comfort that no one could see.

Cas kept his emotions in check. He was scared, utterly and completely, but he couldn't let Dean see that. It was hard enough as it was. He wished he'd been made of stronger stuff. He wished he'd been less selfish. Letting Dean feel for him was selfish. Cas craved it though and took that comfort for himself. And now Dean was suffering for it.

Cas felt each step like a knife in his heart. One stab for the men he'd watched suffer while he sat by and did nothing. One stab for Sam who had been tortured for months while he had Dean. One stab for what Dean would suffer each day, each night as he thought of what Cas walked into. And each step echoed hollow out into the vast empty streets around them. They echoed, and the pain of his past and all of his choices echoed within him, a reverberating throb of endless pain that would likely be his undoing long before the torture would break him.

* * *

 

Dean wanted to stop, wanted to pause and just think. He had made plans, so many plans for how this all would go. But those plans were made with bravado and a confidence he had no right having. He didn’t consider all the ways he’d feel when he was confronted with the reality of the situation. _I’ve got this._ Then he saw Sam standing next to a handler on the other side of the bridge, and all of Dean's thoughts fled in a wild panic. For being so tall, Sam should never look so small. Yet he seemed to be shrunken in on himself. His shoulders were slumped forward, and when the handler settled a hand on Sam's back, Sam flinched noticeably from even this distance.

“Sammy,” Dean whispered. A hint of desperation in his voice.

Cas whispered back, “Remember, you're not Dean. School your emotions. Save Sam.” Dean looked into Cas’ eyes and nodded. They walked toward the center of the bridge and Sam and his handler did the same. Dean breathed. He centered his focus.

When they all arrived at the center the handler whispered something in Sam's ear then turned back to Dean and Cas with a wide grin. “You are not Robert Singer.”

Dean replied in Russian, “I'm not. I'm Agent Lynn. Agent Singer sends his regrets.”

“This is where we exchange then.” It was stated quickly. The handler leaned back into Sam's ear and whispered again, glancing up at the distant rooftop as he did so. Dean followed the glance and saw the barest flash of light catch the scope of the sniper rifle.

Dean leaned into Cas’ ear and whispered, “‘Til we meet again.” He leaned back from him and let his hand brush past Cas’ knuckles, making sure he was felt, feeling the hint of metal there on Cas’ finger. Cas looked at him barely masking the sorrow in his eyes, but said nothing. He moved to the other handler, and Sam moved to Dean. And like that it was done.

Dean wrapped an arm around Sam's shoulder to support him and turned to walk back to their side of the bridge. When he got around twenty feet away from the exchange point, he heard a whistled song reaching out to him from the distance.

And in his head he heard the lyrics to the song too. _We'll meet again. Don't know where. Don't know when. But I know we’ll meet again some sunny day…_ He turned just before they entered the building for one final look back. Cas had done the same. Dean committed his face to memory, far from him, cloaked in the night, a ghost of a smile toying with the corners of his lips.

Then there was the sharp report of a rifle fired in the night. Dean felt the impact of it in his chest. He raised a hand to the wound, and it came away bloody. He slumped to the ground and the world swam around him in dangerous whorls. He heard a yell, and felt hands on him. He heard more gunfire. It all became dark though, and then he heard no more.


	7. Chapter 7

The smell in the room was sharp like bleach and alcohol. He couldn’t open his eyes. They felt heavy like he’d been on a bender and couldn’t shake it. There was a weird purring noise, and a clunky pop of air that punctuated the sound. Dean felt the fog lifting a little. He swallowed, but it felt like he was choking. Something was in his throat. Something was running into his mouth, plastic. He tried to will his eyes open. He concentrated on what he could feel. Something was on his chest. There was a tightness on the left side. He could feel strands of something draped over his bare skin. There was a bed beneath him, sheets over him.

He listened. There were distant voices, like they were coming to him from down a long hallway. He focused. He breathed, but it felt like something was doing the breathing work for him. There was noise, the voices were over him. There was also the noise of machines, a beeping sound which accelerated a little. Hands were on him now. He opened his eyes, but he couldn’t speak.

* * *

 

So much began in darkness. It was fitting that it would end that way too. Cas lay in the corner of the cell, the smell of urine and moldering walls filled his every breath. A small, distant light shown in the hall. It was always there just to give the guards what they needed to do their jobs. Near as he could tell, their jobs included sitting at the entryway in between beatings. He’d been strung up already today, his arms still sore from the chains that pulled him up to standing. His ribs held bruises over the unhealed bruises that he had received the day before.

It could have been worse. They’d only just graduated to this mild form of physical torment. Uriel still came to him for the rest, for the talking. Cas knew the routine, and Uriel knew what Cas knew. He’d only resorted to beating Cas in the first day of his capture. After that, he left such tasks to others. Uriel had one mission, to learn what happened to Andrea, and maybe something about his contacts. Cas had one mission, to give him nothing.

Cas worried though. In time Uriel would break him. He always managed to get what he wanted. He always found the chink in the armor, the ultimate weakness. Cas thought about what Uriel could attack in him and came up short. He had nothing and everyone that mattered was far from Uriel’s grasp. _So let him try._

He ground his teeth as the sound of passing footsteps moved in front of his cell. They usually didn’t come by twice, but they might. Cas closed his eyes and tried to project himself into some better place. He considered death. It was something that he could give to himself. He’d seen Dean go down with the shot. From a distance, it looked fatal. He’d all but determined to end it all right then, but he didn’t. Uriel made him want to live. So time passed, and he could barely keep track of it. There was no window to the world outside, just the changing of the guards marked the time.

Some days it was hard to breath in the dank, underground cells. He tried for a deeper breath as he was feeling light headed, like he wasn’t getting enough oxygen. He felt the stab of it in his lungs. The bite of the effort made him think that maybe he should just let himself fall into the abyss, into unconsciousness. Some days were worse than others, and today felt like one of the worse days. He imagined better days and a means toward vengeance. He had promised he’d live a year, and even if no one that mattered would see the fruits of his labor, he’d make the most of the time.

He wasn’t sure why it mattered, the promise. Some days he thought that it didn’t, and he toyed with ending the suffering. His tongue slid along his teeth. He’d close his eyes for one last day dreamy vision of the past, and Dean’s eyes would look back at him. He’d imagine them as they had been forever ago. He’d imagine his hands cradling the back of his neck. He’d imagine his lips curled up into a smile. He’d imagine his voice touched with so much emotion. He’d stop imagining then and live for another day.

Sometimes he’d think of Dean and it would not be the bright eyes that would greet him. Sometimes he’d see Dean looking back at him over the distance. Sometimes he’d see his chest blooming red with blood, his body falling back. Sometimes he’d hear the noise of the rifle that shot him. Sometimes he’d hear the roar of silence. He remembered the feeling of his handler grabbing hold of him, dragging him swiftly into the building on the eastern end of the bridge.

The door had closed behind them and gunfire could still be heard. He remembered the slow trickle of time passing. The room was empty except for them. When the door burst open, both he and the handler jumped. Uriel strode up to him, rifle hanging from his shoulder by a strap. Even in his memories, Cas couldn’t see what was going to happen any sooner than it did. He couldn’t prevent the string of events to come, just relive them in all their frustrating glory. Uriel walked up to him, raised the butt end of the rifle, and brought it down hard on his face.

* * *

 

They had removed the tube that had been run down his throat. He had tried speaking right away, but everything felt raw and scraped away. When the drama of his seeming resurrection fell away, he tried to piece together what had happened. The doctors only knew of his wounds and the treatment he’d received.

When Bobby entered the room it was in a rush like he thought someone had lied to him and he just needed to get the sight of it over with. “Dean.” He came to a sharp halt as the word slipped out.

Dean choked out, “Heya, Bobby.”

Bobby rushed to the side of the bed and immediately dipped down to hug Dean. “God, we thought we’d lost you.”

“‘Parently got shot,” Dean said in a tone that would seem humorous if it weren’t for the reality of it all. His voice was low and crackly. Bobby had to lean in close to him.

“Yeah.” Bobby pulled a chair over and sat at Dean’s side. “What do you know? They get you up to speed?”

“No, they told me that they’d had me here since I was shot, and that you had been here keeping watch.”

“I had to leave here and there, but I’ve mostly been here. Miss K is here now, and I have Garth installed back home. Wanted to have you flown back to the States, but the doctors said it would be too risky.” Bobby reached over and set his hand on Dean’s arm, affection swam in his eyes. “Really thought I’d lost you boy.”

“I’m still here.” Dean heard his own tone drop lower with the words. He’d never seen Bobby like this before. He was the tough one, the one not to be messed with.

“Well, you weren’t lying. Dean Winchester, you’re finally awake.” Miss K stepped into the room. She was dressed in a warm blue wool dress. Her hands were settled into a fur muff, her blonde hair just peeking out from under a hat. She set a hand on Bobby’s shoulder and added, “Remind me not to wear heels the next time you plan to run and leave me in the dust.” She leaned down and planted a kiss on his head.

“K, you still giving this old bastard the time of day?” Dean smiled at her, knowing full well that she wouldn’t smack him upside the head for his vulgarity since he was, after all, recently resurrected.

A blush rose up into her cheeks as she smiled. “Bit more than that. You’ve been a bit indisposed for some time now.”

Bobby said, “I needed her to be here. I was having a hard time of it. So, we got married, just a quick ceremony. Couldn’t have her reputation getting all sullied.” K swatted at Bobby’s back. He laughed and added, “Actually, don’t think I’d ever find someone that’d put up with me like she has.”

Dean’s brain was still playing catch up. He started piecing everything together all at once, and his smile fell. “Bobby, how long have I been in here?”

Bobby looked to K and then back, “‘Bout four months.” Dean tried to sit up, but Bobby pushed him back, “Whoa, you need to take it easy.”

“Where’s Sam?” Dean’s mind was suddenly picking up the pieces that hadn’t floated to the surface.

“Sam’s fine. He’s home. Got him a room next to Benny’s. The two of them are doing great.”

Dean tried to get up again, but Bobby didn’t let him up. “What about Cas?” Then he remembered that _Cas_ was not the name Bobby knew.

Apparently he’d been wrong about what Bobby knew though. “Cas is gone. Last I saw of him, they had moved him into their building. I’m sure he’s back to work or whatnot.” Bobby eased up and settled back into his seat.

“Back to work?” Dean questioned. “You all didn’t grab him, drag him back? They shot at us. They broke the agreement. All bets are off.” He couldn’t believe that they let him get swept away, and he certainly couldn’t believe that Bobby believed for one minute that Cas was given his old job.

“We couldn’t stop them. They had him in their building and we were outmanned. As far as he goes though, I’m certain that he is okay. He said that he believed that there’d be a debriefing period and then he’d be back in interrogations.” Bobby was good at hiding the tells, but Dean saw all of them. The slight liar’s wrinkle that touched at the space between his brows, the way his thumb curled up a little like he was going to make a fist.

“Damn it Bobby, don’t you lie to me.”

“He assured me that he’d be fine. Saw no evidence to the contrary that night, so I’m not gonna go down the path of doubting him.” Bobby looked away. Dean glanced at K then wondering how much he could say with her in the room.

“I’m gonna get you some coffee, Bobby. I’ll be back in a bit.” K smiled at Dean and slipped out of the room.

“Have you checked or at least sent someone to check?” Dean eased up into a sitting position slowly so that Bobby wouldn’t push him back down.

“How would I do that without drawing unwanted attention his way?” It was a feeble excuse and Dean saw through it right away.

“Last I checked we were in the business of doing just that.” Dean slowly moved his legs over the edge of the bed. He knew without a doubt that an attempt at walking would result in him folding down into a heap on the floor.

“Dean, you’re gonna have to move on from this. You did what you could. It’s done.” Bobby got up and made a move like he was going to get Dean back into the bed.

Dean held up a hand and said, “It’s far from done.”

Bobby froze a little. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’m going to get out of this bed, and I’m going to fix this.” Dean thought that he really needed to get up, stand on his own two feet right now to make the point. He was down in nothing flat.

Bobby immediately was at his side, lifting him back into the bed. “You just woke up from a four month nap. I’d think you’d be smart enough to know that the recovery time is gonna be a bit longer than a couple of hours.”

Dean couldn’t look at him. “I’m gonna need you to go.”

“Come on, Dean. Don’t be like this.” Bobby pulled the blanket up over him, pointlessly smoothed it out at his side. “I’ll come back tomorrow. Maybe you’ll feel a little better then,” Bobby said when Dean didn’t reply.

Bobby moved to the door. He didn’t say anymore, but he did cast one defeated look back at Dean, a stark contrast to the elation that had been on his face when he had first arrived.

* * *

 

Sometimes he saw things in the dark. Sometimes he thought that Dean was there with him, telling him that he just needed to give him one year, just one. Sometimes Dean was there pulling him from the wall and carrying him out into the light. They’d survived this sort of darkness before. This was different though.There was no light at the end of this, no peace, no hope of comfort. He was alone in the ways that mattered. He was beaten and bruised, haunted by memories that made the loss of freedom so much worse.

Some days were worse than others. It was odd to think that in a place that was all misery. On the worse days, Uriel came to visit. On those days, he reminded Cas that he was still angry and that it would not diminish. Uriel knew how to dig at his memories, dig at what mattered.

When he had first regained consciousness on the night of the exchange, it was in the very room that he had spent so much time in before. Only now he was in the spotlight, hands bound to the chair, a trail of blood solidifying on his cheek under the heat of the lamp. Uriel had sat in front of him, staring him down.

“You know how this works? I’ll get right to the point. Where’s Andrea?” His voice was low and tinged with the roughness of one that was use to a menacing role. Usually, Uriel was not like this. Usually, he spoke softly in the first days. He saved the anger or pseudo-anger for later, for when the man or woman in his care had been broken.

Cas didn’t know how to answer. He wasn’t sure if telling him anything would help in the long run or hurt. He just knew that he didn’t want to tell the man that shot Dean Winchester a damn thing. He stayed silent, considered playing dumb. He let his eyes drift around the room. No one was working with Uriel. It was just the two of them. “You haven’t replaced me yet?”

Uriel backhanded him. “Answer the question.”

“I thought that I’d be debriefed less violently.” He took a page from the book of Dean Winchester and went with snark.

Uriel was not a fan of this approach. He punched him viciously until Cas was slumped over, barely conscious again. “Where’s Andrea?”

He lifted Cas’ head, and it fell back. “I don’t know. Haven’t seen her in weeks. Been kind of indisposed, in case you’d forgotten. Got myself captured.”

Uriel pulled a chair over and took a seat. He had a table next to him with implements that he at least pretended he would use on Cas. He took a rag from the edge of the table and meticulously wiped his hands with it. “You look good, Dmitri.” These were not the words Cas expected. “You remember when I came back?” He looked up at Cas and waited for a reply. “You and Andrea sat by my side. Took weeks to recover.”

“And look at you now,” Cas couldn’t help but interrupt this trek down memory lane.

“Yeah, look at me now.” Uriel snorted a laugh and looked away. He came down low to look closely at Cas. “And look at you.” He waited a beat and said, “Guess you don’t remember much of what came after. I won’t let them give you another chance like that. Not without Andrea.” Uriel looked away for a moment then returned his gaze to Cas. They both just stared at each other a little in the silence. “You look even better than when you left. Did he even hit you?”

Cas didn’t answer. He never planned an explanation for his lack of injuries. He saw no point. They would assume he had turned traitor, as he had. Why bother with a pointless cover. He hadn’t thought though about what else might be revealed in his lack of injuries, and Uriel would see so much. He always saw so much more. “It took some time to heal up from the gunshot wound. He wanted to have me whole before he took me apart. Luckily your negotiations went by quickly.” It was more than he had intended to spin, but he did it to cover the truth. Uriel might see it for the lie that it was, but sometimes one can pile so many lies on top of so many other lies and the truth then becomes lost entirely. He’d spin another tale later, and still another, until maybe even he wouldn’t know the truth anymore.

“You know the many ways that I can take you apart. You know what the end result of all of this will be.” Uriel reached back to the table.

“So what motivation do I have to even say one more word?” Cas cocked an eyebrow to him and added, “Do your worst.”

He didn’t really mean it, but he looked like he did. The problem was that Uriel couldn’t be intimidated. He had motivations that went beyond just getting answers; although, that was important to him too. It was about making Cas hurt, making him feel all the misery he could make him feel. Cas had betrayed him, betrayed Andrea. Uriel folded his hands in front of him and smiled, a smile that showed his teeth and a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. “You know how much I love finding a person’s motivation. Well, I won’t have to do much to find yours. You forget, that we were friends once.”

“Is that why you’re so angry?” Cas let the snide tone slip into his words.

“Yes.” It was the quiet tone that Uriel sometimes adopted at the start of his interrogations. For a moment, Cas thought that he actually looked sad. “You trusted me before. I earned that trust. Andrea trusted you too. Look what our loyalty bought us.” He got up and loomed over him. “You sold me out to them. Got me beaten, tortured by,” Uriel paused and seemed to bite off the end of the sentence. He came down low again, got right up in Cas’ face. “You barely have a mark on you.” He moved away and added, “Bet he did touch you, just not like he did me.” He lifted his shirt a little and showed Cas the scars that ran up his side.

“I’m sorry that happened to you.” And he was. As much as it was necessary at the time, he had wanted it to be someone else, anyone else. Uriel had committed horrible acts, but Cas had watched. He couldn’t judge him without judging himself right then. He often did judge himself. He often found himself guilty, just as much as he found everyone he worked for guilty. He’d earned this punishment. He had no intention of escaping it. Uriel had been his friend and he had betrayed him.

“Sorry.” Uriel folded his arms over his chest. “You don’t even understand the word.” He ran his fingers over the table. “But you will.”

Uriel knew how to make pain last. He knew how to make it dig deep into the subconscious so that all would be pain, thoughts, silence, movement and even stillness. Cas would survive it, because it was what Uriel wanted for him. He would also survive it, because he had made a promise. He’d live even if he at some point would forget why.

* * *

 

It took him another month to feel like he could live outside the walls of the hospital. _Five goddamn months._ He got a phone after Bobby left and tried to call MacLeod. He didn’t have success on that front. He had thought that he might be able to get some help from him, but the guy didn’t even answer his phone.

Bobby came back to visit everyday and had K with him. Dean put on a facade of quiet complacency. He had plans though, and he was getting stronger, stronger than his doctors or Bobby knew. Bobby had said that he’d be able to check out soon. He had mentioned casually that he’d booked passage on the SS United States for the three of them. Dean didn’t say much about the plans, preferring to just think about his alternatives instead.

Night fell and Bobby and K left again. Dean stared off at the wall. Boredom wasn’t an issue for him. He had plenty to think about. He thought about the night that he’d been shot. He thought about all that he had planned for that night and all that didn’t happen. He’d parked the Triumph away from the exchange site. He had every intention of going back to it and driving into the Eastern Block. He had the necessary paperwork, and he was sure that MacLeod’s intel had some accuracy. Unfortunately, he never got to follow through with his plan. It had been so long. He’d need to get to Cas soon.

While he was deep in thought, the door to his room slipped open. Dean turned to the intruder expecting some nurse and not MacLeod. He raised his hand and said, “No, no, don’t get up on my account.”

Dean sat up. “I’ve been calling you for weeks.”

“I’m aware. Flattered really.” He came to the bed and sat. MacLeod looked like he had aged so much since Dean had last seen him. “You’re a lot of work even when you’re unconscious, in case you were wondering.”

“Tell me you tracked them.” Dean was already getting out of the bed to pull on some clothes that were hanging in the nearby closet. He looked back over his shoulder and saw the approving look that he was getting from MacLeod.

“I did. I’m not sure that this is smart.” He paused a beat and added, “I picked up that motorcycle of yours too, in case you were wondering. Impressive piece of machinery.”

“I hope for your sake that you didn’t break it.” Dean pulled on his trousers and then opened a drawer that contained some socks and a belt. He took the items to the bed and finished getting them on. “Tell me what you know.”

“You really know how to finesse the situation. Just, don’t break my stuff, you never return my calls, tell me what you know. What happened to the good old days when you use to act like you cared?” MacLeod employed a whiney tone for all of it.

“Look, I’ve been cooped up in her for months. Bobby’s been keeping me in the dark. Thinks I’m gonna go off half-cocked and make a mess of things, create an international incident or something, I think he said.”  


“Aren’t you?” MacLeod raised an eyebrow at him.

“Well, yeah, but who cares. They shot at us, at me. Hardly seems to matter what I do to them at this point.” Dean stood up and grabbed the rest of his stuff out of the closet, tossing it all into a bag.

MacLeod set a hand on Dean’s arm and said, “It does matter though. If you go in there with half a plan, you’ll get killed. It was crazy before, but I could see it working, so I supported it. I can’t see any plan now that isn’t suicide.”

“I know you don’t work with the whole trust thing, but I’m gonna need you to trust me on this. I’ve got a plan.”

“Hardly matters if I trust you. You’re gonna do whatever you want and leave me in the dust if need be.” He paused a beat and said, “I’ve helped you, Dean because we have a bit of history together. I shouldn’t care what happens to you, Lord knows that’d be healthier. So for better or for worse, I’m here to help, despite Bobby’s wishes to the contrary.”

“What’s Bobby got to do with it?” Dean just stood there looking at him.

“He has been paying me to keep an eye on this place above and beyond the efforts he has made with his own agents.” He turned and looked back at the closed door to the hall. “Speaking of, I may have rendered your guard unconscious. He looks like he’s napping though, so we should be okay.”

“Bobby’s been paying you?” Dean ran a hand back up through his hair. “Seriously, is there anyone in my life that is not working with you?”

MacLeod laughed, “Not currently. Speaking of, I came in today, because your location has been compromised.”

“Oh, you mean you didn’t just come in to lend a hand?” Dean went back to gathering his stuff.

“No. I was perfectly willing to let you get through your recovery and return to the States with Bobby. Only way to be sure you’d stay alive. However, things have changed. Seems, you’ve managed to piss off one of Krushnic’s comrades. Big guy named Uriel, one responsible for shooting you the other night, he’s had feelers out, trying to discover where you were taken. Well, he knows now. I reckon you don’t have much time to get out.”

Dean looked down at his watch and back at MacLeod. “How much time?”

“Guessing an hour.”

Dean nodded and said, “Seems I really owe you. I’ll have your back in Poland when this is done.”

“You don’t need to worry about that. Pretty sure you’re not gonna survive this anyway.” MacLeod grinned at him though, and in that moment made it all light enough.

“Thanks for that. Now get me out of here.”

“Leave a note for Bobby. The guy deserves that much.” MacLeod turned his back while Dean scrawled out a quick note. _Don’t worry about me. I’ve gone off to fix some things. I’ll see you again soon. Go home with your wife._

“You said about an hour, right?” Dean paused before following MacLeod out the door.

“Maybe. I can only guess. He knows, found out earlier today. Assuming he’s gonna at least tell his boss something, he couldn’t have done anything right off.” Dean took the words in for a moment, looked down at his watch and then back at the bed.

“Give me one more minute.” Dean stalked over to the bed and picked up the phone. With a few clipped words he got patched through. Rough math told him that it would be early day there.

“Hello,” the familiar voice greeted him.

“Hey Benny. It’s Dean.” He lightened his tone.

“How?” And after a slight pause, “Brother I damn near gave you up for dead. Sammy here kept saying, no you’re a fighter, and all that, but I didn’t buy it.”

“Yeah, figured you all would be lost without me, so I decided to stick around.” Dean laughed.

“Glad to hear it. You calling to talk to Sam?”

Dean thought about saying yes, getting a couple words in, but he didn’t think he’d have time for much of any worth. “Nah, tell him I’ll see him soon.” He paused a moment and said, “I’m calling because I need a favor.”

“Name it.” He didn’t even take a moment, just agreed, like always.

“You still wear that necklace Andrea gave you?”

“Yeah, got it on right now, why?”

“I want you to hold the earpiece of the phone next to it for about ten seconds. Can you do that for me?” Dean waited. Dean believed that even with Andrea gone, that someone would be tasked with listening for important chatter. He also hoped that the person doing this would call Uriel immediately. He wanted to do more than just save Cas. He wanted a bit of retribution too.

“Uh, Dean, have you gone crazy out there?”

“Just trust me.”

A moment passed, and then he said, “Okay.”

There was a rustle of fabric, the only tell that Benny was complying. Then silence. Dean said, roughly like he was dragging each word over hot coals, “Heard you thought you’d found me, Uriel, you dumb bastard. I’m coming for you.”

He got the words out then he heard movement on the line. “You done talking to my jewels?”

Dean laughed and said, “Do me a favor, Benny. Get rid of the necklace. I’ll explain more when I get home, but it has a listening device in it. I’d rather not have the enemy picking up on all your nocturnal emissions.”

Dean hung up, before Benny could ask any questions that Dean so didn’t want to answer. He turned back to MacLeod and gave him a nod. “Finally,” MacLeod said with mock frustration.

They left the room and Dean noted the agent seemingly passed out on a chair next to his door. “He okay?”

“Yeah, don't need the drama that accompanies a little murder. He'll wake up soon enough and tell Bobby you escaped.” MacLeod strolled away from the room and Dean followed.

They got out to the parking lot without drawing any attention. Parked beautifully under the amber glow of the streetlights was the Triumph. “You drove the bike here?”

“Of course. It’s a glorious ride.” They stood alongside it for one awkward moment before MacLeod added, “So, am I driving or are you.” He waggled his eyebrows a little, making everything worse.

“On back.” Dean got on and felt MacLeod settle in behind him. “Don’t get all cuddly back there.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, princess.” Dean started the engine and they roared off into the night. He’d head for the safe house. He could figure out the rest from there.

* * *

 

He’d been left alone for longer than normal. The last beating had been intense, nothing broken, not really. He’d lost time though and thought that maybe he had been beaten again but hadn’t regained consciousness enough to know it. By his reckoning though, it had been more than a day since his last visitation. He was trying to be sure, but couldn’t manage it. There were patterns that had been established since he’d been first brought back, and he was trying to piece together just what part of the pattern he was in right now.

A light flashed into his cell then. It was so bright it hurt. He closed his eyes and looked away. “She is dead.” Uriel’s voice filled the room. “I needed to look at you. See your pathetic face. You couldn’t even tell me that much.” He’d been moved into the cells beneath Teplyakova’s offices not long after the initial interview with Uriel. They hadn’t needed to keep him upstairs, as he was in this for the long haul. “I’m talking to you, Dmitri. Wake up.” He tossed some water into Cas’ face.

Cas found some reserve of strength to lift his head. His arms were held at his back by the manacles that ran to the wall. He gave Uriel a smile, more blood than teeth. “I may have forgotten to mention that.” He’d managed to keep the information from spilling for nearly five months. He wondered how Uriel had found out, now, after all these months.

Uriel took a step toward him. He stopped though before any contact was made. “You want me to kill you.”

“Seems only fair.”

“I’d rather let you live. I’d rather take it out of you daily, piece by fucking piece.”

Cas realized then that he really did want it to end. He couldn’t do it himself. He’d promised. He could bait Uriel though and not feel an ounce of guilt. “It won’t get her back to you. I made sure of that when I put the bullet through her head.”

Uriel was on him the second the words fell. Cas’ felt his hands squeezing away at his throat. He didn’t struggle, didn’t want to. Uriel gave up. He moved away from Cas. “You’re lying. She was always better than you, topped you in all the trainings. No way you shot her.”

“It hardly matters if you believe me. I did what I did,” Cas rasped out.

“Really? Can’t imagine why you’d blow your cover. Shooting her ruined any chance you’d have of pretending when you came home.”

“My cover was already blown. You didn’t even know she was dead, yet you already suspected me. Shooting her did nothing more on that front, just made her dead.” Cas rolled a little onto his side, contemplating getting up.

Uriel drew close. “Then perhaps you’d like to know that all your efforts were likely for nothing.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Took some time, but I found your special agent. They had him stowed away in a hospital in Frankfurt. He was doing so well too. He was going to be checking out, maybe head back home. Then fool, that he was, he called home and left me a little message.”

Cas tried not to show too much. It was difficult. He hadn’t known that Dean had survived. Last he saw him, he was shot, and falling to the cold ground. Cas took in Uriel’s words though and realized that he was toying with him. He’d brought in the light for the cell so he could see Cas’ face when he told him about how he had found Dean. “I suppose you’ll be busy dealing with his capture or murder then. Why bother coming here to tell me about it?”

Uriel’s lip curled up into a half grin. “Just thought there’d be nothing better than seeing you try to cover up your feelings on this subject.” He swooped in closer and said, “You took her from me, you bastard, now I’m going to even the score.” He got up from his crouch and stalked out the door, taking the light with him. He stopped in the doorway and added, “Wasn’t even sure she was dead. He would have offered to trade her for you if he had her. He didn’t though. Just told me he was coming for me.” Uriel laughed and then added, “You just confirmed that he has nothing. Well, maybe his head on a platter right next to yours. I’ll enjoy having you watch what I do to him.” He left then, his words lingering in his wake.

Cas felt the dark, felt the coldness seep into his bones. He shook, and his mind filled with too many thoughts at once. The screams of others in their cells around him penetrated the silence, and sent his thoughts into chaos. They devolved into just a string of worries and Dean’s name echoing again and again as time passed slowly by.

* * *

 

They rode back to the safe house in Berlin. He figured he could run through the particulars of his plan there. He’d also need weapons and a place to lose MacLeod. No sense in having anyone else at risk. He would wait ‘til nightfall. The sky was now a dismal grey like a storm needed to come through but it hadn’t made up it’s mind enough to do so. Dean breathed in the crisp evening air and waited.

MacLeod came to his side. “How you gonna cross over?”

“I’ll have to take the train. I don’t think that I’ll be able to take the bike.”

“They’ll still check you for papers. You're not exactly an unknown commodity.”

Dean looked at him and said, “Well, it’s not like I can race through Check-point Charlie.”

“Good thing you know me then,” MacLeod said with a grin. “Where are you going once you've crossed?”

Dean stalked over to the bike and flipped open a small compartment at the front. He pulled out a map. MacLeod leaned over Dean's shoulder. Dean said, “I looked it over when you were inside. He's here.” Dean pointed at the edge of the folded map of East Berlin.

“You sure?” MacLeod looked skeptical.

“I researched the area before, trying to find where they had Sam. I was going to run off and get him myself when they first took him. Regardless, I was never certain that this was the place. With your help, I could get this verified before I go. Even if you can’t, I've gotta check.”

“What'll you do though when you get there? You can't just march in guns blazing.”

Dean looked away. That had been nine tenths of the plan. He shrugged and said, “You don't need to be concerned about that.”

“Look, I've got an investment in you. Beside that though, I think you need to use your brains here, at least the part that hasn't been scrambled by five months of shut eye. You need to give me time to do recon. I’m getting the very real impression that you don’t plan to give me that. What were you thinking? Were you figuring on giving me a few hours then bam, you’d be off?” Dean shrugged like he was agreeing and MacLeod continued, “Give me a day. Just a day.” MacLeod took a step back, hands raised in a peaceful gesture like he knew that Dean would balk at anything more than a day.

“Fine. I'll give you a day. “

MacLeod went back into the house and got his coat. “I'll be back here tomorrow in the a.m. Don't you dare go off before I get back.”

Dean watched him go. The grey sky turned to night. He walked back into the house, determined to not go crazy with the waiting.

* * *

 

Cas laid silently on the cold stone floor, but he had been busy just moments before. He was always busy when no one was looking. It had been twelve hours since Uriel had been in his cell. He worked over what it all meant, what Uriel would do. He worried over what it meant specifically for Dean.

He reached back to the wall that he was chained to and worked his fingers around the bolt on the fetters. He had dug at it with a chunk of metal he had found before in the dark.

Now that it was loose, he thought that he'd be able to remove it. He had no greater plan beyond gaining enough freedom from the wall to do something should the opportunity arise. He saw several potential outcomes. He had not been idle during his months of incarceration. He’d mapped their actions and behaviors. He’d noted the types of men that had come to him, beating him within an inch of his life. He had listened to them talk in the night when boredom was at its peak. He knew them well enough.

He applied more pressure to the edge of the bolt as he thought and planned. The bolt slipped out. It was just one bolt though. The second one was still fast in place. Cas pulled on the chain with all of his broken, beat down strength. Even broken, Cas was strong. Even after months of their attentions, he’d maintained his strength through sheer will and intellect. He could feel a little give in the bolt when he pulled again.

He eased up and ran his fingers over the bolt that remained. He'd loosened it, considerably. He smiled into the dark at this small accomplishment. He dug at the bolt with his piece of metal, using it to pry the piece up and back first from one side then the other.

Because the other side had already lost the bolt, Cas had more wiggle room with the remaining bolt, so to speak. It still took hours, but he was motivated. In the first month in the hole, he learned that food would be a problem. They intended to bring him to the brink of starvation. He had endeavored to keep his strength up through whatever exercise he could devise in his small space.

One of the guards, a fat man named Franz, delivered his morning meals. Franz joined up with the Russians the moment they took over the eastern block. He was a man that saw opportunity and didn’t care much for loyalty or causes. He’d been a soldier for the Reich in the war and saw no problem with bending to the will of the communists now that they were in power. For those reasons, Cas assumed he’d be motivated by self-interest or at the least anything that would lend him power.

He hadn’t been wrong. He called to him when the food was being delivered. He was rewarded the first time with a swift kick to the side of his head that made him see stars. Cas positioned himself better the second time, and when he approached to kick him, Cas proposed his deal. Franz’s foot froze in place then lowered back down to the floor.

Cas told him where he had some money tucked away for a rainy day, and that should he be well fed during his stay, he’d tell him about other places that one might look for hidden treasures. As he suspected would happen, Franz beat him in an effort toward getting all the locations at once. Cas had more willpower than him though, so the deal was made, and he was well-fed.

The beatings became something tolerable too. He had to be beaten. Uriel expected to see damage, but the damage could be superficial. That was how he came to make the deal with the second guard, Karl. Luckily, he had stashed enough money in and around the city to keep his bribery scheme going for some months. Karl, like Franz was just as easily manipulated. Franz for his part even helped Karl see the sense in the plan that Cas had laid out.

With his manipulations in place, he had worked and thought of Dean. When his scheming had begun it was only so that he could eventually provide some measure of payback for all that Uriel had taken from his world. Now, it was a means by which he would protect Dean. There was much to regret. He regretted making himself known to Dean. He thought about that often. He could have let Dean go his whole life never knowing what had come of Cas Novak. He thought of how things might have even been different concerning Uriel had he been less selfish with his desires.

He'd worn enough names in his life that it wouldn't have mattered if Cas Novak had just died. He thought of what Dean could have lost, might still lose, from having known him. He could have lived on having loved a lie. The truth gave him nothing but a handful of tender nights that would now be a torment if he lived, if Uriel didn't end him.

Cas worked harder at the bolt.  He was beaten and bruised, but he wasn't done, not by a long shot. His mind processed what he knew of this place, of its exits and entrances. He processed the routines of the guards, the changes and the beatings. Franz and Karl were on duty at least. Despite that, some things weren't predictable. He'd have to deal with that.

His plan before had not included escape. His only intention, the only reason he chose to try now, was because he knew Uriel. He knew that this was personal for him. He knew that Uriel had not shared Dean's whereabouts with anyone else, least of all Teplyakova. A mission of vengeance would not be approved, just as the shot taken at the exchange likely hadn’t been either.

So lies must have been told, a cover story arranged. By his reckoning, Uriel was doing two jobs at once. He was running the interrogations and in his spare time he was seeking out Dean. What worried Cas most at this point was that Uriel had not returned. He worried that he'd return once he'd gone to Dean. Somehow Cas held onto some small hope that he'd get a shot, that Uriel would come to him one more time before he went to Dean.

* * *

 

He fell asleep on the entirely uncomfortable chair in the front room. He didn’t want to be in bed in case MacLeod came back early. He wanted to spring into the task, get it done. So, when the headlights shown through the window, Dean woke up. It was early enough in the morning that the sun had not burned off the fog, so all was still rather dark and dreary. Dean got up and opened the door, expecting MacLeod.

“I’ve half a mind to haul your sorry ass back to that hospital,” Bobby’s words were out before Dean had even fully registered that Bobby was standing in front of him. He didn’t reply though, just stared. “Well, what do you have to say for yourself, boy? You drug my agent, and think a stupid goodbye note is acceptable?”

“I had to, Bobby. What could I have said to make this okay?”

Bobby brushed past him into the room. He slumped down into a chair. “Nothing.” Dean closed the door and moved to the seat across from him, the coffee table between them. “You don’t even know if he’s still alive.”

“He is,” Dean replied quickly.

“Why do you think so?”

Dean didn’t have a good answer. He looked off away from Bobby. “I don’t know. It’s a feeling.” Bobby snorted, a derisive noise in response. “Would you know if something happened to K?”

“No. I don’t believe in all that energy ties bullshit. She could be dead right now, and I’d be shocked when I got home.” He leaned back and stared levelly at Dean. “So you’re gonna have to give me better than feelings if you want my support, which isn’t off the table in an entirely unofficial way.”

Dean cocked his head to the side uncertain if he was hearing him correctly. “You’ll support me?”

“Maybe. Seems unlikely at present.” Bobby fell silent and Dean just stared at him trying to figure out what could move him.

“Okay.” Dean drummed his fingers on his thigh and said, “I did a little research back home, before. I was planning to go rescue Sam if things in the negotiations department didn’t go well.”

Bobby hummed and said, “So you figured out where they are?”

“Yeah. I think so. Crowley is looking into it. He’s verifying things.”

“And if he’s wrong, then what?”

“Back to the drawing board I guess,” Dean ran a hand through his hair and looked off toward the window. He hadn’t made any backup plans. This was it and it had to work.

“And what if he is just happily working for them again? You could be putting him at risk.”

“Bobby, I’m gonna need you to stop trying to convince me that he’s working a desk job now. He’s not. You know it, and so do I.” Dean tried to temper his tone into something resembling patience, but he was not patient, not really.

“Fine. He’s not.”

“Good, now that we’ve taken care of that, I think he’s still in their interrogation facility.”

“So you think you know where he is, but getting in ain’t no small thing. What do you have planned?”

“MacLeod is bringing me recon. I gave him ‘til today. He’ll be back soon, then I can go over what’s possible.”

Bobby seemed to be thinking about that for a moment before he said, “He’ll be able to get you some info. on the surface details. He won’t have a man on the inside. At least I don’t think he does. Never know with him though. He certainly won’t be able to tell you where Cas is in the building or what to expect.”

“I’ll make do. I think you forget what I’m capable of when properly motivated.” Dean got up and paced the room a bit.

“I know where he is,” Bobby said quietly. “At least within the building.”

Dean turned back to him. “Explain.”

Before the exchange, he told me about the cells where Teplyakova, his boss, kept his long term prisoners. Cas’ll be there. Getting in won’t be easy, and if you get in, you gotta come out the way you went in.”

“Tell me everything you know.”

Bobby repeated Cas’ words from that night almost verbatim. Dean mapped the rooms out in his head, imagined his route, made his plans. Bobby wouldn’t try to stop him now. He just had to wait for MacLeod. He could do that. _I’ve got you Cas. I’ve got you. Just hang on a little longer._

* * *

 

Food was tossed in to him at some point, and he had to pretend not to be working on the bolt. Luckily, the guards were not particularly interested in him at the moment. He ate quickly and resumed his labor. He had made assumptions about certain things, that the food came in the morning, and that the beatings came in the afternoon. He could hear the sounds of suffering curling down the halls. He wondered how long he would get before they came to him.

Today, with Karl and Franz on duty, he could almost predict what was to come. Cas had his back to the wall when they came for him. Though his ribs were still a little sore from the last round they put him through, the discomfort was tolerable. He wondered if he’d be strong enough to do what he intended.

Franz entered his cell. He walked right up to Cas and pulled him up to his feet. This was the routine. He’d undo the chain from the wall and fasten it to the hook in the ceiling. Cas wasn’t fastened as he had been though. As Franz reached back for the chain, Cas kicked out at him, landing his foot square in his chest.

Franz fell back and Karl moved in to help, laughing at him as if this was a minor scuffle. Cas had the chain free from the wall and tossed it over Karl’s head, pulling it tight around his neck. The first man had yet to move. He laid on the floor wheezing though, as if he couldn’t breathe.

The man in his arms struggled against him, but Cas was strong enough still after everything. He pulled the chain tighter, hearing the crackle of his efforts in Karl’s neck as he was broken and eventually no longer breathing. When his struggles ceased, Cas let him fall into a heap at his feet. The first guard had the keys. Cas took his head in his hands and snapped his neck, silencing him. He felt around his clothing for the keys. When he found them, he undid the manacles around his wrists and rubbed the newly free skin.

He had to consider his next move. He had hoped that Uriel would be the one to come to his cell today. He looked down at the two dead men. _Too bad for them._ He slipped out of the cell to the desk that the guards occupied when not attending to the prisoners. He knew there’d be a gun or at least something that he could use as a weapon inside. They didn’t carry guns into the cells for fear of the prisoners getting their hands on them.

The top drawer had a 9 mm with an added clip laying next to it. He picked it up and moved out to the hall that would take him to the stairs and Teplyakova’s office. He did not know how that would play out. He moved though, and breathed in the moldy air of his incarceration for the last time.

* * *

 

The transit into the GDR during the 1950s was not the most difficult thing. If one wished to enter, one could do so via the check points or via the subway system that had existed prior to the splitting of Berlin into two very different halves. Stalin wanted the world to view a crossing into the GDR as a crossing into another country. To that end, a makeshift wall was erected complete with guard towers and orders to shoot anyone attempting to illegally breach the borders.

It had been difficult though to actually control the flow of people that made their way out of the country via the subway. If they had appropriate travel papers, they could cross. Those that did not, had elaborate schemes that they had to develop in order to make their ways to freedom.

For some, no amount of paperwork, however cleverly it was forged, could cover up a well-known face. Some had found ways to hide in the engine compartments of cars or within hidden chambers added to the trunk or the wheel wells.

Bobby knew the difficulties that Dean would face. He brought in Pamela, who had helped him with his disguise before. “Dean, such a pleasure to see your handsome mug again.” She grabbed his chin and gave it a little squeeze.

“Good to see you again too Pam.” Dean took a seat at the table and she set her make-up case in front of him. She’d worked in a traveling circus before Bobby had recruited her into the field. She had told Dean that she’d worked as a mystic, and in her spare time she did make-up for the performers. _One has to pick up a lot of extra skills if one wants to be of use,_ she’d told him. “Gonna need a better disguise than last time. Seems I was recognized.”

“Had nothing to do with the disguise, sugar.” She clucked her tongue at him.

“Really?”

She rolled up an eyebrow at him and said, “Was your mannerisms and how you conducted yourself out there.”

“What does that mean?” Dean felt a little bud of irritation beginning to bloom.

“I watched you from the far house. When you turned to look back at the prisoner, that’s what gave you away. Also, you were gentle. The other handler, you’ll remember, he practically shoved your brother over to you while you carefully handed off your guy.” She set her hands on her hips to punctuate her point.

Dean tried to remember just how it all happened, _Did the handler shove Sam? Was he too kind?_ “Sorry.” He decided that was the easiest way to deal with the subject.

“Well, just be more careful this time.” She set to work on his features adding years with spirit gum and make up. She added a skullcap and a wig held firmly with some sort of an adhesive that Pamela had in a small vial. When she was done, Dean looked at himself in a mirror. He couldn’t even recognize himself.

“You’re amazing Pam, simply amazing.”

He got up and MacLeod clapped him on the back. “So let me take your picture for the paperwork.” They set him up against a plain background and snapped the shot. MacLeod went into the other room to develop the print and finish off the paperwork. The speed at which Bobby and MacLeod worked to make his plan a reality was impressive to say the least.

Night fell on them, and by then, Dean felt ready.”So Bobby, any last words of wisdom?”

“Don’t get dead.” He pulled Dean to him and hugged him tight. “I mean it. Sam’ll tan my hide if I don’t bring you home.”

“I’ll do my best.” He smiled and turned to MacLeod for the paperwork. “Got my identity there?”

He held it out to Dean. He was a little awkward like he didn’t know what to do next. Dean reached out a hand and MacLeod took it. “Not to repeat the old man, but don’t get dead.”

“Thanks, I think I’ll live thanks to you and Bobby.”

“Hey,” Pam chimed in.

“And Pam.” Dean laughed. “So we got plans for when I get back. Poland.”

“That we do. I’ll see you then.” MacLeod let go of Dean’s hand and stepped back.

He turned to Pam to say some sort of goodbye, but before he could fully turn around, she grabbed a handful of his left butt cheek. “Don’t need no sentiments, thanks a bunch. This’ll do.” She let him go. “Good luck.” With that Dean left without a backwards glance. The night loomed in front of him, and the last train into the GDR would leave within the hour. He was armed to the teeth, but no one would be able to tell at a glance. He’d take the bike to the station, then the train, then he’d make the last mile on foot .

* * *

 

Cas crept up the stairs until he was pressed to the back of the bookcase at the top. He listened for the noises of occupation. It was silent though. He played out several scenarios. One very hopeful one involved the room being unoccupied. The rest involved the use of a gun that had more bullets than the one he was carrying.

He was at a disadvantage, not knowing what time it was, if it was even morning or night. Much of what he knew concerning the routines of those on guard rotation had been built on speculations and assumptions. He knew that all would be confirmed the moment he pushed on the door and found himself in Teplyakova’s office.

He took a breath and pushed at the wall that was the back of the bookcase. It didn’t move at first. He groped around the edge, finding a keyhole. He fumbled with his pilfered keys and tried each one until he found the right one. He twisted it and pushed the door open, gun in front of him at the ready. It was dark. The room seemed to be empty. He breathed a quick sigh of relief.

He wasn’t in the clear yet. The room on the other side of Teplyakova’s door was massive. It had desks lined up in four rows extending outward. He’d have to get through that room without getting shot, then down the narrow exterior hall to the exit. The last was the riskiest. It was a veritable shotgun hall with a door on either end to prevent something akin to what he was about to do.

He pressed his head to the door and listened. Suddenly and without warning, he heard the familiar noise of gunfire and the shocked screams of whoever was just out of his line of sight. He opened the door a small fraction of an inch and peered out at the chaos that seemed to be unfolding.

An old man was marching through the room, wearing a long black coat and shooting at the men in the room. He had both arms extended and shot with a well-practiced grace that seemed more like a dance than an act of violence. There was familiarity in the man’s movements. Cas watched, and slowly felt the dawning realization come over him. A smile stretched over his face. He moved out of the room to join the fray.

* * *

 

He saw him enter the room, gun drawn in front of him. He was a mess of blood and bruises. Dean’s heart clenched up in his chest a little just looking at him. He was taking return fire now, and had to dip behind a desk. He found another gun strapped to the underside of it though. He removed it and slid it across the linoleum floor with some force toward Cas who was on the other side of the room shooting at whoever he could get a bead on.

Dean called over, “Miss me?”

Cas called back, “A little.”

He stood and fired a shot at a man that had stupidly thought he could rush Dean behind his desk. The man slumped over the desk in a dead heap. Dean called over to Cas, “Our time apart has aged me a bit. Hope you don’t mind.”

Cas shot out between two desks and made an effort toward bridging the gap between them. There were roughly seven desks between Teplyakova’s office and the back end of the room. A man was trying to sneak along the far wall toward Cas. Dean watched him, and waited for an opportunity. He noticed that Cas was focused seemingly on the door that they would have to use as an escape. Dean had cleared that hall.

The man that was making progress toward Cas made a mistake and stood just a little. Dean took the shot and he was down. At the same time, Cas stood and shot at something behind Dean. Then he managed to duck into a roll that brought him closer to Dean. “Hope you weren’t interested in me for my good looks. My face has seen better days,” Cas said as he took another shot over the desk. There were three men left on Dean’s side of the room. One of them grabbed a telephone off of a desk.

“Can you get a shot on that guy with the phone? We really don’t need him calling in the cavalry.” Dean moved closer to Cas by one desk and thought he might be able to hit the phone, but the shot wasn’t clear.

Cas said, “I think I’ve got it.” He took the shot, but neither of them could see whether or not it had happened fast enough.

“By the way, you look great. You look alive. Couldn’t ask for more.” Then a large brute of a man that Dean thought he’d hit, leapt over the desk onto him. Dean punched at his face or whatever he could. They were a rolling mass of limbs.

“You want me to help with that or are you okay on your own?” He heard Cas ask.

“Anytime, ass.” Dean managed to grunt out as he kicked upward sending the man off him a little. Then a gunshot rang out and the man fell right on top of Dean, crushing the air from his lungs.

“Stay here. I’m gonna sweep the room.”

“Sure, yeah, not going anywhere.” Dean began a rather futile bit of movement back and forth that he hoped would allow himself to wiggle free. It didn’t. In fact it may have made him feel even more trapped under the dead weight of the man on top of him.

He heard another snap of gunfire and a few moments later, Cas was back over him. “Push him up a little.” Dean pushed and Cas helped leverage the body off of him.

“You ready to get outta Dodge?” Dean reached toward his outstretched hand, and Cas pulled him up.

“Soon. I have one more piece of business to attend to.” Cas moved past him toward the door.

Dean grabbed his arm before they got to the door and stopped him. He pulled him into his arms for a moment and kissed him. Cas spun him around rapidly. Neither of them closed their eyes. Cas extended one arm and shot into the corner. They broke the kiss. “Nice shot.”

“He must have been playing dead.”

“Well he won’t be doing that again.” Dean moved toward the door to leave. “What else do you need to do?”

“I need to kill Uriel.”

“Well, it’s a good thing he’s not here then, because I’m pretty sure we’ve drawn some attention.”

“Do you know where he is?” Cas followed him as he moved out into the hall and toward the exit.

“I did. He was going to try to kill me in the hospital.”

“You checked here?”

Dean reached out to his free hand and pulled him along. “I checked. He’s not here.”

Cas let himself be pulled. “Perhaps we should wait for him.”

“Really?” Dean stopped mid-step. “Perhaps you want to take on half the GDR while we wait too?” The sarcasm in his voice was absolutely dripping. “Come on, Cas. We’ll plot this thing out intelligently back at the safe house.”

“Says the guy who just marched into enemy territory dressed like an old man, shooting everything in sight.”

“Exactly.” Dean smirked and they went out the door to the street. No military or police vehicles were there. Dean could hear the sound of approaching vehicles in the distance though and figured they had maybe a minute or two to disappear.

Dean moved them down an alley. “Where are we going?”

“I figured we wouldn’t be able to get out the same way I got in, and the border checkpoint is a no go too. Seeing as I don’t plan to stay any longer than necessary, I thought, we’d go underground, follow the tracks out to the other side.”

“Not sure how easy that’ll be.”

“MacLeod gave me a map and did the recon. There’s a line that is closed that’ll get us to the west.”

Cas shook his head, clearly doubting Dean’s words. “I’d have heard about this. There isn’t a tunnel that goes all the way through.”

“Well, it certainly isn’t gonna be an easy route.” Dean smiled at him, and asked, “How long you reckon you can hold your breath?”

* * *

 

He trusted Dean. He trusted him to make every selfless decision in the world. As they made their way into the underground service tunnel near the Friedrichstraße, he considered his options. Dean could leave via the trains, in his disguise just as he had entered. No one who saw him unleashing violence was alive any longer to ID him. Cas knew though, that this new route to freedom, was chosen because he was identifiable. So once again, Dean’s life was at risk because he cared about someone more than he cared for himself, and Cas couldn’t accept it.

The river near the station had flooded the underground tracks and tunnel during the war when Berlin had been attacked. Trains passed through those tunnels now, and the damage had been repaired. They moved into the darkness of the empty tunnel. No trains passed on this line yet. It was being built in anticipation of the traffic that would have to be rerouted once the lines in and out of the west were closed. The only line that would remain ran through the Friedrichstraße station.

So much was changing from just a few years ago when he found himself living primarily in this region. He’d lost faith in Stalin and in the government that he’d worked for for so long. Watching the vast struggles that people faced just in Berlin alone were enough to change his worldview. Additionally, there was Dean, always struggling and fighting on the polar opposite side of everything that Cas had supposedly stood for.

It wasn’t long before he came to certain conclusions. He knew he had to leave. He knew he had to get his family out. He knew that he might not survive the effort, but if he could get them through it, he felt that it would be enough. Some sacrifices were worth everything.

The border crossings of ‘53 had changed much. Actually Stalin had changed much in that year, and those that could, left. Each year the emigration restrictions increased every time Stalin got the itch. Cas had wondered if escape to the west would be easiest for him through Berlin. He had the right paperwork after all. In the end though, he didn’t get to test out any of his plans. He ended up having to improvise a new plan that involved actually getting caught.

It had been difficult, fighting instinct. He had gone into the west, knowing that Sam’s survival depended absolutely on his efforts. The Americans had no one to trade. He couldn’t see himself betraying any of his comrades again. It had been hard enough doing so with Uriel. He chose to make the sacrifice himself. He could do this one thing. He could make it work.

Those were the thoughts that he had carried with him all those months ago. They had served him well. He had been shot, taken to the States, and handed over into Dean’s care. He knew that there would be a chance that he’d end up in someone else’s hands. He thought though, given that Sam was such a high profile capture, that Dean would be especially interested and connected to whomever was going to be used in the exchange. He was glad to have been right.

What he hadn’t counted on was all of the ways that seeing him again, up close and devastatingly real, would effect him. He had aged like a fine wine, all rugged beauty carved out in a fierce facade. He’d seen him since the war. It had been different though. He’d had to hide himself, stay at some distance. Being in close proximity had reminded him of all that he had wanted those many years before and all that he convinced himself he didn’t need now.

So as he had recovered in the American facility from his minor gunshot wound, he had time to think about what was to come. He had never intended to tell Dean everything. He never needed to know that he was Cas Novak. He never needed to know that he had watched him from a distance, carried a torch for him that only burned brighter with the passage of time. Dean would never need to know any of that. Now he was once again traveling through darkness with Dean, feeling the small stirrings of hope that could be so detrimental.

The sound of their feet echoed out a little around them as they moved as silently as they could down the long corridor. They could not speak as Dean had been told that the space was bugged. He didn’t believe it. The space was too wet and too difficult to access without that effort being made. The tunnel would end soon at the river. They’d have to swim to a partially constructed entrypoint far from where they were starting. The entrypoint might not even exist yet, but MacLeod had assured Dean that it was their best bet to try for it.

They got to the end of the path that was not flooded and stared out at the water that covered everything in front of them. They’d have to pump it out like they had when they repaired the damage after the war. Dean was already disrobing. Cas approached him and pressed his lips in close to Dean’s ear. He whispered, “You don’t have to do this. You can leave via the trains. I can meet you on the other side.”

Dean leaned away and looked at him like he was a great fool. He leaned into Cas’ ear and said, “No one gets left behind, no one. I get out with you, or I stay behind. You make the call.” He leaned away and leveled his gaze on Cas.

 _Bastard._ Cas stared back at him and considered how he might send Dean away safely, and couldn’t come up with any solution. Dean was stubborn and rash. Dean was selfless and too good for him. He couldn’t think of any way that he could fix what he unleashed that night on the ship when he allowed Dean to know him. _He never needed to know._

If he hadn’t known, he could have let Cas go. At least that’s what Cas had assumed. Dean reached out to him in the midst of his existential crisis and cupped his cheek in his palm. He leaned down and pressed a soft, chaste kiss to Cas’ lips. And like that he nearly forgot all of his worries, all of his plans and agendas. There was just Dean, his entire world and all that he ever thought he could need.

Cas shed his threadbare shirt and pants at the water’s edge, determined now to follow Dean into the dark waters, into any dark for that matter. That was the power he had. One kiss and he was forgetting all that he intended. Dean stepped into the water ahead of him and reached out to him. Cas took his hand and stepped up to him, closing the minuscule gap of space between them. Dean leaned in and whispered, “Hope the Ruskies taught you to swim. This is gonna be a doozy.”

Cas whispered back, “I’m sure I can outswim you on your best day. Did you even get trained in the US?” He leaned away with a smirk.

Dean pointed to the far end of the water at a slight angle to indicate the direction they’d travel. He pointed downward and whispered, “Fifteen feet,” to let him know how deep to dive down once they got to the wall. Once there, they’d have to swim for all they were worth through a flooded tunnel to what they each hoped would be an oxygen rich environment. Dean believed they’d survive this, because MacLeod had done the recon. The faith Dean put in that man, baffled Cas more than a little.

The water was up to his waist. He looked at Dean once more. Then Dean ducked into the water and began swimming with great speed to the far side. Cas dove after him, and caught up by the end. They stopped at the wall and regulated their breathing. Dean’s fingers held firmly to the space between the stones there. “If I don’t get to say it on the other side, thank you.” He didn’t whisper anymore. There was no point in worrying about detection now.

“Tell me on the other side.” He smiled a goofy, impish grin, and said, “Race ya.” Then he dove down into the water with a splash.

“Bastard.” Cas took a deep breath and dove after him. The space was dark, but if Dean’s intel had been correct, the path should be a straight one. He could feel the movement of water around him, flowing out from Dean who was just ahead of him. There could be no racing. He risked getting kicked if he went any faster. He stayed close though.

A minute passed, but he had no worries yet where oxygen was concerned. The dark seemed thick like they’d never find light in this space. In his head he thought about the very real possibility that they could end up never finding an outlet. They could die in this space, in this oppressive dark, and no one would ever find them. Well, someone would eventually. He swam on, his arms swooping forward and back, his legs pounding away behind him.

Two minutes passed, and his mind was twisting into dark possibilities. They were maybe too far now to go back. His eyes began seeing visions in front of him, a mirage of green light like a fluttering island in the distance beckoned to him. He kept moving, pulled onward by the flow of water trailing to him from every one of Dean’s kicks. He’d follow him to whatever end they had ahead of them. He thought he’d follow him, even when he shouldn’t, even when he should just let him go, let him find some measure of happiness.

He’d been confident when Dean had shared the plan on the surface, well before they had descended into the tunnel. He had completed many training exercises in swimming and endurance well before the war. He’d held his breath a grand total of four minutes, but that was different. The extra effort made from swimming and his added age, made the task at hand far more difficult.

Three minutes had surely passed, and he could feel the burn of it in his lungs, the desperate desire to suck in air or water or anything just to be done with this torment. He kept swimming. He couldn’t even feel Dean’s efforts ahead of him anymore. He closed his eyes and pounded onward thinking that he’d give it just a few strokes more.

And more time passed with his efforts until he just couldn’t think, couldn’t even remember why it was he needed to keep moving. He stopped, gave up would be the optimum word for it. His arms fell at his sides and his mind went blank a little. He let himself think of Dean in that last moment of effort. It was the only thought that lingered. He hoped that Dean had made it, that he had gotten back to the light. It was a good hope to go out on.

* * *

 

The first bite of crisp wet air came to him in the loudest gasp as he broke the surface of the water. Dean took one moment to breathe and then realized that Cas had not broken the surface with him. “Cas!” he yelled, treading water a little as he twisted back. The space had light coming into it from somewhere up ahead. “Cas!” he yelled again.

He dove back down into the dark waters, feeling around in a panic. He kicked and drove himself back into the tunnel. _Damnit, damnit, damnit._ He reached up to the stone above him. He kicked forward and felt something, fabric and the solidity of flesh. He grabbed hold of him and kicked, propelling himself and Cas back toward the opening. He burst back through the surface and gulped at the air as he dragged Cas to the solid stone that made up the thin walkway along the water.

He got Cas up onto the walkway and scrambled out after him. He rolled him onto his back and leaned down to hear any chance of a breath. “Don’t you dare. Damnit, don’t you do this.” Dean leaned down to him. He pulled him up to him and water drained from his mouth. Dean pressed his mouth to Cas’ and kissed him, muttering a string of no’s into the moment. He had no reason to think that his next action would fix a thing, but he blew a lungful of air into Cas and told himself he’d breathe enough for the both of them.

He kept breathing for them both and intended to do it forever if need be. Then Cas coughed a quick burst of water and choking. Dean held him and cursed him. There was light in the dark corridor, and it was growing brighter. Dean couldn’t force himself to be bothered by it though. “You trying to get away from me or something?” He hadn’t let Cas go. Dean’s words were breathed out to him as he lay across his lap.

Cas tried to sit up a little and said, “Just needed a little break.”

Dean laughed and pulled him tight to his chest. “Idiot.”

“Crushing.”

Dean loosened his hold on him a little.”So now you’re all concerned about breathing.” He pressed a kiss into his hair and looked off down the tunnel. “We’ve got company.” Dean helped Cas to his feet. He did not have his clothes or his gun. He pressed Cas to the wall at his side and took a stance that seemed ready for a fight.

“Dean,” a tentative holler echoed out to him.

“MacLeod, how’d you get here so fast?” Dean moved away from the wall and waited for him to cross the distance to them.

“No time for chit-chat. You’re still in enemy territory.” He handed Dean a satchel full of dry clothes and a couple of guns. “Hurry up and get dressed. Can’t handle all this gratuitous near nudity.” Dean shed the wet boxers, and Cas did the same. They got dressed fairly quickly. MacLeod turned a bit to Cas and added, “Get lover boy here moving. We gotta skidaddle.” He was already off back in the direction that he had come. Dean looped an arm up under Cas’ and moved them along.

“You good?” Dean whispered into his ear.

“Yes. Don’t really need this level of help, by the way. Not going to complain though.” Cas smiled at him and they moved off at a fast clip. MacLeod had a flashlight that he held out in front of him like a weapon. “Do you know where we’re going?” Cas asked.

“Of course I know where I’m going,” MacLeod snapped back at him. “I’m the one that got Dean into your neighborhood in the first place.”

“I just wanted to be sure. You seemed lost.” MacLeod came to a sudden stop and both Dean and Cas ran into him.

He turned to them both and said, “Where’s the faith boys. I managed to do quite a lot on your behalf in the last twenty-four hours. So kindly stop doubting my skills.”

Dean laughed at him. “I’m impressed, if that helps any.” He let Cas go and reached out to take the flashlight. MacLeod let him. Dean illuminated the ceiling area. “What are we under?”

“Still just the center of the eastern block. We don’t want to be surfacing yet.” MacLeod waved them forward and said, “Come on. You don’t need a break yet.” They trailed after him for well over an hour, through the dark.

They followed his lead, but Dean kept the flashlight, shining it out ahead of them, and occasionally he illuminated the sides of their route. He could feel Cas’ hand as it settled onto the inside of his arm. He looked at him in that moment as they moved through the last miles of their own little Hell, and as he did, he knew, just knew that he was done. Nothing was gonna make him want to stick with it. He thought of the life they might have, of what they’d do and where they’d go. “Hey Cas.” His voice had a hint of a questioning tone lurking within it.

“Yeah.”

“How do you feel about taking a vacation when we hit topside?” He smiled as he said it. Cas looked at him, raising an eyebrow as he seemed to consider what Dean was getting at. The path ahead grew a little brighter.

MacLeod turned a little to them and said, “Looks like Bobby’s got the exit lit up for us.”

They kept walking, and Dean said, “I mean it Cas. You, me, a beach and beer or frilly drinks under the sun. Whatcha say?” He could see Bobby, and he felt the smile blooming ever more across his face.

“I haven’t been to a beach before.”

“Well, we definitely need to fix that.” Dean laughed.

“Sounds like we do.” Cas laughed back and gave his hand a little squeeze. “I’ve come to the conclusion that I’ll likely follow you anywhere that you go.”

“Good.”

Bobby was on Dean an instant later, pulling him up into a hug that nearly lifted him off the ground. Dean could feel his back crackling under the squeeze of the hug. “Thank goodness.” He let Dean go and clapped Cas on the shoulder. He did the same with MacLeod and said, “Whatcha all say we go home?”

“Sounds like the best plan ever,” Dean said as they climbed up the ladder that lead to the street above. The sunrise on the distant horizon painted the world in a wash of pink and orange hues, and Dean felt the stirrings of joy that came from the brand new day that seemed to stretch out ahead of him.


	8. Chapter 8

They did go back to the States with Bobby and MacLeod. They did linger there long enough to see that Sam was in good hands and that Benny was doing well too. There had been things to consider once they had returned. Cas had said that he felt like he’d left too much unfinished business behind. Dean understood. He thought of the commitments he had made and the lingering issue of the ever present mission. Bobby didn’t push. He didn’t seem to expect anything from him.

They stayed in the apartment, while the world seemed to slowly spin through days and nights. Cas woke up most nights in a cold sweat, panic spiking when a car would honk or a noise outside would penetrate the space around them. Dean thought that they needed to be somewhere else, anywhere else, and that was why he chose to gather a few spare things and Cas and just leave it all behind.

That was how they ended up far from the maddening crowds, far from duty and missions, far from all the noises and complications that came from life in the city. The city had been a kind of comfort for Dean before, but now, staring out from the hammock at the rolling waves and the golden sunrise, Dean felt better than ever before.

Cas slept through the night here, with the lullaby of waves slapping the sand throughout the day and night. Dean dropped his head a little and kissed into the mop of unruly dark hair that lay on his chest. One would think that two men sleeping in a hammock might be impossible. Dean had thought as much, but they’d slept poorly on the too thin bed in the hut. They’d slept on the beach, in the hammock, on the floor next to the bed. The bed had received some attention, but its purpose was no longer connected to sleep.

Cas stirred a little and adjusted his position in Dean’s arms, sending the hammock to rocking back and forth a little. Cas was warm and looked darker than he had when they had first arrived on the island. Dean ran his fingers slowly up Cas’ back, tracing the lines of muscles that extended up into his shoulders. Cas hummed a little noise of contentment into Dean’s chest. Dean could feel him smiling.

They’d been on the island for just over a month. It was not a place that was entirely secluded, but it was not inhabited either. Well, it hadn’t been inhabited until Dean and Cas had gotten there. The hut had been built near the shore some years prior. Dean knew of the place from when he had been a kid. Once, in happier times, his mom and dad had brought him here. They’d vacationed in South America, and dad had gotten a boat. He took them all out to this little island. How he knew about it, and how it managed to have any sort of habitable building on it was a mystery. Over the years, though, Dean had found time to escape the life, and in those times he always ended up on the island.

He built up the place a little and added touches here and there. Most importantly, he kept the place to himself. Bobby knew of it, and so did Sam. That was all though. He didn’t want to have to share it with anyone. It was his, and now it belonged to Cas too.

A little light breeze skittered over the sand and seemed to kiss his flesh into goosebumps. It wasn’t cold, but it carried a little of the sea to them. Dean thought of how long he could stay here with Cas, of the world outside of this place and how it was still there, maybe waiting for them.

Cas murmured, “You’re thinking too loudly.”

“I didn’t say anything.” Dean kissed into his head again.

“Didn’t have to. I could feel you thinking.” Cas tipped his head back to look up at him past long dark lashes.

Dean shifted a little to get a better look at him and to feel his body press into more of Cas’. He was rewarded for his efforts with a small smile and lips that were soon pressed to his chest. “Don’t get how you could feel me thinking. Sounds like some mumbo jumbo, supernatural talk.” Dean laughed as Cas kissed into a sensitive place on his side.

“Your muscles tense up just a little when you’re over thinking things.”

“You were probably just tickling me with your long hair. I guarantee you that I wasn’t thinking much at all. It’s too early for that.”

* * *

 

Cas knew he was thinking, knew some of what he was thinking, but he chose to focus only on part of those thoughts at the moment. The most pressing thing that Dean seemed to be thinking was in evidence against his thigh. They’d gone to sleep the night before in the hammock, and were too exhausted from the day’s activities to do more than fall asleep immediately. They found that their time on the island was rather full. Cas was beginning to view all places as potential mating grounds. Sex on the beach, sex in the ocean, or sex in the hut, these were the choices that they had to make each day.

 _Time to initiate the hammock._ Cas settled his head into the space between Dean’s shoulder and his neck, letting him think that he was going to go back to sleep. He could feel how much Dean would be against that. He was practically throbbing into Cas’ thigh. Cas rested there for a moment though, waiting for Dean to say something, beg even. Dean was likely thinking of doing just that. Cas could feel him thinking. His muscles were so tensed beneath Cas’ fingers that ran up and down his chest in light trails.

Cas breathed in the heady scent of Dean. He smelled of salt and sun. He closed his eyes a little and just kept breathing him in. “Cas.” His voice sounded a little needy, a little rough with want. Cas schooled his own lips into passivity. Inside he was smiling though. Dean started to roll them a little, trying to change their positions so he was pressed on top of Cas.

Cas didn’t let him do that though. He knew Dean. He knew what he wanted, what he craved. As much as he liked being in control during his day-to-day life, when he wasn’t on the clock, he wanted to be controlled. He wanted to be pushed back into the sand, laid out on the rough floor of their hut, pressed solidly to every wall, tree, and surface within their proximity. Luckily for Dean, Cas liked giving Dean what he wanted.  In fact, Cas more than liked it. He craved the moments with nearly as much enthusiasm as Dean.

“Shouldn’t we still be sleeping? We had a long day.” Cas muttered into Dean’s neck. He eased himself up further and nuzzled in, careful not to give Dean anymore contact than absolutely necessary.

“Fuck you,” Dean started to move them into a different position again, but Cas pressed a firm hand to his chest to keep any and all changes from happening.

“Is that a request or a poem of frustration?” Cas had to struggle to keep from laughing.

“You know damn well what it was.” Dean ran his hand down Cas’ back and stopped at the waistband of his swim trunks. A moment passed and Dean pushed the trunks off of half of Cas’ ass. “You’ve got my other arm pinned a bit, otherwise I’d finish the job.” Dean squeezed  a handful of flesh, catching part of Cas’ ass and thigh in the effort.

Cas couldn’t hide his response to this. He sucked in a sharp breath and moved a little to give Dean’s other arm some freedom. This move also got him right where Dean had wanted him. His naked chest was now pressed to Dean’s, his legs were settled on either side of Dean’s own. Cas was hard, couldn’t hide that, not that he wanted to. Dean smiled up at him with a face that positively glowed in the early morning sunlight.

Now freer, Dean pulled the other side of Cas’ trunks down, and Cas helped him finish the job. They were on a hammock, after all, Dean couldn’t handle all of the work. Cas reached down between them and tried wiggling Dean’s trunks off, but they were rather pressed together. “This might all be easier if we just got up, undressed, then returned to the hammock.”

“Yeah, but what fun would there be in that.” Dean bucked up a little, and damn if it wasn’t the best thing Cas’ body had ever felt. “Besides we never did things the easy way.” Dean smirked.

Another breeze blew in over the water, past the beach, straight up to them. The hammock rocked a little more. Cas closed his eyes a little and breathed in the air of pleasure that seemed to surround him. He opened his eyes and looked down at Dean and wondered what he tasted like this morning. He leaned into his neck and licked a stripe up the side all the way to his jaw. He tasted like salt and the warm sun baked flesh that no longer held the bruised evidence of their struggles from so many months before.

He drove his hips down hard into Dean with the taste of him still lingering on his tongue. Dean bit down on his bottom lip and sucked in a deep, shuddering breath. Cas adjusted his position, lining up their bodies, so that they’d slide along each other with each thrust. Dean reached back off the hammock to the floor beneath them.

Cas looked over. “When did you put that there?”  
“Use to be a Boy Scout, Cas. Learned that one must always be prepared.” Dean laughed and pulled up the little bottle and slicked up his hand.

“I have no clue what a Boy Scout is, but I support the outcome none the less.” Cas felt Dean’s hand slide between the press of their bodies. “I support this a lot.” He closed his eyes and thrust up into Dean’s hand. He was holding them both in his grip, and Cas thought he might not be able to keep it together much longer at this rate.

“How could you not know about Boy Scouts? Least observant agent in all of Russia.”

“Ah,” he sighed as Dean squeezed a little harder on the upstroke. “I was so observant. You Americans have too many things going on though.” He reached down and pulled Dean’s hand away from his efforts. He repositioned himself, so that he was firmly situated over Dean, slick and hard. “Sometimes I think you make things up. Who’s to say that these Boy Scouts you mentioned even exist.” Dean laughed at him again, and Cas thought he could live forever and not hear another more pleasing sound. He moved a little, a rotating of his hips that felt languid when paired with the slight rocking of the hammock.

A few moments passed like this, then Dean said, “They do exist, and you’re pressed up against one right now.” Dean made everything a bit of a competition for who knew the most or who could teach the other some new thing. It was a bit of a dance between them. Cas just smiled and increased the speed of his movements.

His one hand came up behind Dean’s neck and pulled him up a little into a kiss. His other hand ran down to Dean’s hip and slid back to his ass. He held on there as he rocked into Dean’s body. Dean responded in kind, their breathing hot and panting out between them. Dean’s movements were growing more erratic with each thrust against Cas. The canvas material of the hammock was leaving a little burn on his knees, but he didn’t care. Cas felt the low bloom of orgasm forming. His muscles clenched as he brought his mouth to Dean’s shoulder and bit him there as he came. He eased up once Dean came too, and sucked a bruise into the space where his teeth had been before.

He slumped into Dean’s shoulder and just laid there, breathing him in and knowing without a doubt that this space, this life could be everything. His mind settled into some approximation of sleep as he listened to the slow drumming of Dean’s heart.

* * *

 

He somehow managed to disentangle himself from Cas while he slept on the hammock. It was a true testament to his skills that he didn’t just end up overturning them both onto the floor below with his efforts. He stood for a moment and looked down at Cas who now looked like he’d fallen into some sort of uncomfortable position. “Stop staring. You’re waking me up with all your noisy looking.” Cas’ words came to him through the fabric of the hammock and sounded like the drunk mutterings of a true reveler.

“Okay. Gonna walk down to the dock for a bit.” Dean cut through the hut first, grabbing a shirt and a fresh pair of trunks to wear. Afterwards, he wandered away through the jungle that backed up to the hut. There was a trail from one end of the island to the other. The dock that he had tied their boat too was on the other side of the island. When he got there, he saw the second boat tied off on the other side.

It had arrived silently enough, but Dean had heard its approach. It was what caused him to get up from the comfort of his rest. As he drew near, he saw movement, and then Sam. “Up for a little company?” Sam asked with a grin.

Dean pulled him in for a hug. Sam slapped his back and they parted. “Lookin’ good, Sammy. They finally let you out of the hospital?”

“Let me out awhile ago. Wasn’t ready to travel right away though.” Sam set a hand on Dean’s shoulder and Dean lead him toward the hut.

“And Benny?”

“He’s out now too. Bobby and K took him in. He’s been at their place now for a couple of weeks.”

They meandered down the path. Dean knew that there was more to the visit, but didn’t want to upset the quiet of their reunion with questions. They got close to the hut and Dean called out, “Hey, Cas. Sam’s here. Get your lazy ass up and say hi.” It was more a means of assuring himself that Cas would be wearing clothing when they got there, and maybe he’d cover up at least some of the evidence of the morning activities.

Suddenly, and without warning, there was a sound at their backs. Dean and Sam spun around in sync. “Hello, Sam.” Cas’ voice was low and even. His deadpan greeting, made Sam laugh.

“What the hell, Cas. Warn a guy. Nearly gave me a heartattack.” Dean reached out to the tree at his side and steadied himself.

“Sorry. Old habits. I heard someone approaching, and well, clearly it was just you two.”

It was then that other aspects of the situation were noted out loud, and well, that was pleasant for everyone. “So, you decided that the best way to approach a potential enemy was naked?” Sam’s question sat for a moment in the space between them.

Cas glanced at Dean, who was wearing his trunks, thank you very much, then he looked back at Sam and said, “I was going to get dressed. Figured I’d finish once I’d dealt with the intruder.”

“Well, Cas, pretty sure you can go deal with that now.” He nodded down at the rest of Cas and tried to sound reasonably affronted by the nudity that he had already experienced so much of. He glanced at Sam as Cas traipsed off ahead of them to the hut.

Sam asked, “So, he naked often?”

Dean didn’t know what to say to that. _Constantly, as often as possible, whenever I can get him undressed…_ Instead of answering with words, because words were stupid, he shrugged. They got back to the hut without Sam asking about anything else. Dean assumed that Sam got the situation with Cas. He assumed that Sam could see the connection, because even Dean thought that it was like a giant fucking sign hanging over them whenever they were near each other. Cas made him feel like he couldn’t look anywhere else when they were close. It was all blue eyes, and slightly chapped lips taking up his vision.

Dean also didn’t care that Sam knew or anyone else for that matter, so long as he didn’t have to talk about it. Too much had happened to make him care about what the world thought of his sexuality at this point. He really just didn’t want to put it into words or explanations. He was tough enough to defend himself, should any physical threat come to him, but God forbid he should have to talk about the feelings aspect of their relationship.

Thankfully, Sam seemed to know that too. They moved into the hut and Cas was blessedly dressed. One less piece of awkwardness to deal with. Dean leaned against the wall as Sam came into the hut. He sat at their table, and Cas began rummaging through some of their cabinets for food to start up.

“So, Sammy, what brings you to town?” Dean asked with a half grin.

“I’ve got news from home, but I figured I’d share it later. Maybe after dinner or something. I’d really rather just visit for a bit first if that’s okay.”

Dean smiled at him and said, “Sure, man. I just guess I wanted to be sure everything was okay.”

“It is. Couldn’t be better actually.” Sam smiled back at him, and the feeling of something awful looming over them drifted away on the cool island breeze that slid through the windows.

* * *

 

They lived the island life together with Sam for a little over a week. They continued to sleep out on the hammock together, and Sam took the bed in the hut. Sam never questioned the arrangement or even the way that they were with each other. They kept themselves from too much overt affection out of respect for Sam and the limited space that they were all occupying.

Dean didn’t shy away from him though, like he thought that he might. He draped an arm over his shoulders while they sat together at dinner. He took his hand while they walked down to the beach together. Sam noted it, but said nothing about it. One day when they were still sleeping, Dean announced that he was taking the boat out to catch them some dinner, because, “Some of them worked around here.”

Cas waved half-heartedly from the hammock and continued to sleep after Dean noisily left. He thought that Sam had gone with him. They were usually in each other’s company, but that wasn’t the case that morning.

Sam’s hulking form hung over him a few hours after Dean left. “You ever getting up?” Sam asked.

“Maybe.” He looked up at Sam with his own wild mop of sandy brown hair and added, “What, you need someone to fry an egg for you?”

“Wow, someone’s not a morning person.” Sam smiled though, so he knew that he hadn’t entirely offended him.

Cas got up and found a shirt on the floor. He smelled it, and finding it passable, pulled it over his head. There were some chickens running around the hut. He went out to the tall grass to look for some eggs. Finding two, he snatched them up and walked back into the hut. “One egg or two?” He asked.

“I don’t need breakfast. I was just judging you.” Sam settled into the seat at the table though, and Cas pulled down a pan from the rack to heat up on the wood burning stove. They were running low on wood and would likely have to sail back to the mainland to restock if they stayed longer. Something in his head told him that they might not be staying longer. It was something about Sam that made him think it.

“Scrambled or fried?” He asked.

Sam rolled his eyes and said, “Scrambled.”

Cas cracked the eggs into a bowl and whisked them into a golden yellow brilliance. He eventually tossed them into the pan and stirred them around. Sam sat quietly at his back. “So when will you tell us the news from home, the news that is designed to make us come back?” He’d been patient, but it was clear to him that the visit was more than just a visit.

“Is it that obvious?” Sam folded his hands in front of him on the table. Cas pulled out two plates and set them on the edge of the counter. He scooped eggs onto each and brought them to the table.

“Painfully. Though I’m not sure that Dean sees it, or maybe he does. He might just be content to let it fall out of you whenever you see fit.” Cas sat across from him. “I on the other hand, have no fondness for surprises.”

“Well, it’s nothing bad, just something you all should know.” Sam scooped up a bite of eggs that were still rather hot. He made a little ‘o’ shape with his mouth to blow out around the bite.

Cas waited then said, “And,” to prompt Sam into sharing.

Sam glanced at the door, like he was expecting company, then said, “We caught Uriel. He was on his way here, we think.” This bit of information surprised Cas. “Anyway, we have him back at the facility. We moved to another location just a few weeks ago. It’s in southern Florida.”

Cas wondered at the added information that Sam shared. _Why should it matter where they moved?_ Then he realized that Sam was hoping they’d come home with him. “I’m sure that Dean has told you that I had intentions where Uriel was concerned. I’d thought that he needed to die, and that I needed to be the one to make that a reality.”

“Has your opinion changed on the subject?” Sam finished off the egg and set his fork down.

“Yes.” Cas finished his food as well and pushed back from the table a little. “Your brother needs to be out of the life.” Cas glanced back at the door, half expecting to see Dean standing there with a swift counter-argument at the ready.

“Yes.” That one word from Sam encouraged Cas.

“He has only just started feeling like a human being again. He needs to know his worth, and going back to that life, to the torture, the risks, that would do irreparable damage. I can’t let him do that just for some sort of revenge.”

“Bobby has worries. He thought that it was odd that Uriel was able to find you both here. He wanted me to be sure that you were okay too.”

“We are.” Cas ran a hand up into his hair. “We won’t be if we come back.”

Sam stood up then and took the plates to the sink. He set his hand on the manual pump that would draw water in from outside. “Then don’t come back. Keep my brother here, and let the rest of us deal with Uriel.”

Cas got up and walked to Sam’s side. “Can I ask you something?”

Sam looked at him. “Sure.”

“If you didn’t really want us to come home, why’d you bother coming here or even telling me about Uriel?”

Sam set down the dish he was going to wash and fully turned to him. “We really did capture Uriel, but I never wanted you to choose to come home. I needed to see you, see what you were to him.”

“Oh,” Cas looked away for a moment.

“We made a life of not trusting your people, and now my brother is living in a hut on an island with you. I didn’t get much of a chance to really process that when you were both at the hospital. I really didn’t get what it was that you were to each other at all, but things are clear now.” He turned back to the sink and started washing the plates and the pan under the water as Cas pumped it.

Cas said, “And, what do you think?” It wasn’t really the question he wanted to ask, nor was it really all that well formed, but he thought that maybe Sam might be able to deal with that.

“I think that the only thing that matters is that he’s safe now and not just physically. He was falling fast. I worried about him, about where he was going. He seems better now. I’m glad of it. And if you can keep that going for him, I think that I can be quite happy about that.”

“I’ll do my best on that front.” Cas took the dishes from Sam and dried them, putting them back in the cabinet as he finished.

“Good.” Sam leaned back against the counter. “I’m gonna head back tomorrow. Maybe don’t tell Dean about Uriel until after I’m gone. You two can talk through what it means, and if it even has to mean anything. Either way, we’ve got it covered.”

Cas reached out to Sam’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Thank you Sam. I knew you were a good man before, but,” he paused, “just thanks.”

“We made a good team back then.” Sam wandered out of the hut and Cas followed.

“We did,” Cas replied.

Dean was on the beach now. Cas could see him walking slowly back to the hut, a few fish hung at his side. _They’d eat well tonight,_ he thought. “Now you two get to be a team.” Cas looked at him. “Take good care of him.”

  
Cas tipped his head to the side and said, “He and I aren’t exactly a team like you and I were.”

Sam gave him a shove and said, “Thanks for that clarification. I don’t need a vivid explanation either, in case you were about to keep going.”

“Oh, no.” Cas laughed and added, “You take good care of yourself, Sam Winchester, and maybe we can work together again in time.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” Sam just smiled, and together they watched Dean making his way to them, the sun at their backs, and a whole world of possibilities ahead. Cas let his mind wander over the time that they had ahead of them, the living that they could do here or back on the mainland. He considered how he’d tell Dean of home and Uriel and wondered if it would be best to lie or keep the truth to himself. It was a habit born in the job.

When Dean got to them though, his smile caught up in his eyes, and Cas knew he’d tell him the truth. He knew it just like he knew that Dean would choose to stay on the island, at least for now. He knew it like he knew that Dean would be fine, and he would be fine too. More than fine, they’d be happy. Dean was there now, and it was all he could do to keep from wrapping his arms around his neck and kissing him. He didn’t though. Not that Sam would mind. The guy was grinning at his side with some extra level of joy.

No, he’d wait for that. He’d wait because it’d be better then, when the world was quiet and just theirs. He’d wait until the secret was spilled, until the night, cool on their skin was a blanket to them out on the hammock. He’d wait until Dean was just his again, and Sam was heading home. He’d wait, not because he needed to have Dean all to himself, but he’d wait because that would be when it would be right, when they could just live in each other’s eyes.

He hoped that Dean wouldn’t want to return yet. He hoped that he’d feel content to just keep on living on as they were. Here Cas could feed him truths to counter his life full of lies. Here he could tell him what he was worth, and make him feel it. Here he could be free. They both could.

Dean was talking to them, and Sam was holding up half of the conversation. Dean was saying something about the cleaning of the fish, and apparently he was getting chosen for the dirty work. He didn’t mind though. He listened to Dean and Sam tell stories that evening, and lived in the laughter, the melody of it. He thought that Sam was right, that Dean was better with him than he had been without.

And as that truth settled into him, filling all the dark places that had caked up his edges for too long, he smiled. He’d spent some years telling himself that he would only bring ruin and heartache to someone like Dean. Now, with him sitting just a few feet away, laughing with his brother with real joy, Cas felt like maybe he had only just now gotten to see the bigger picture. He liked it, liked the truth of it.

Later when he curled into the crook of his arm under the starry sky, he’d kiss the constellations of freckles that marked his skin. He’d love him as he always had and ever would. He’d be happy with the life they could have, and Dean feeling all of it in the same way. They’d both be happy and together, whether on the island or back in the States, and that was a truth that Cas thought he’d be able to live with.

**Author's Note:**

> As always thank you for any kudos you feel like leaving and any kind words. You can also find me on Tumblr under the name [Spearywritesstuff](http://spearywritesstuff.tumblr.com/) Thanks for reading my DCBB.


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